


a language you can't read just yet

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She is different from the rest of them, no matter which Pack she’s in.</i>
</p>
<p>The saga of Marlee and Ben, two tertiary characters that only I care about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a language you can't read just yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts).



> Literally written specifically for Jordan and Jess. I am a monster.

*

_Cold_ , Marlee thinks. She is very cold. Everything is dark, starless and smothering; it reminds her of the Net, of where they used to be. She was little when they left, and she is still young now, but she remembers. She thinks she’ll never forget it. 

_Cold_.

A small warm hand curls around hers, a shock of heat and light. 

“Marlee?”

A flicker of care, a bond stirs deep in her chest. She wants to hide in the coolness and the shadows but he won’t let her, he’s never let her since they’ve met. His fingers are so small in hers and yet there is power there. She can feel him reaching out for her. 

“Marlee, please wake up.”

Her lips form his name. She rises up from the sightless dark, pinpricks of heat against her skin. 

When she opens her eyes, he is there. He sits on her bed, his hands wrapped around hers. All the light seems to gather to him, brightening his young face. He looks older than he is, all of nearly six. The worry in his gaze is too earnest, and suddenly she’s so scared she can’t breathe for the tightness in her stomach. 

“Hi,” she says, her voice just a croak of a noise. 

Ben’s small face is tensely lined, his gaze eerily fierce. His grip on her hand doesn’t lessen. “Okay?”

She nods, at a loss for words. Her gaze flickers to the doorway, the tall shadow of her father lingering there. The lines at his eyes are thick and heavy, his gaze oddly bright. “Dad – “

Walker pushes off of the doorway and settles at the side of her bed, opposite Ben. His big callused hand strokes the strawberry-blonde wisps from her forehead. There is worry in every touch of his skin to hers; she can feel it even outside the LaurenNet. “You were the last to wake up,” he says, voice strained. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, confused. Her gaze flickers between Ben and her dad, a tremor starting under her skin. She can’t even remember falling asleep; she remembers the safe house, remembers huddling over a puzzle with Ben at the small table. “I just – it was dark – “

“I know,” Walker says quietly, stroking his thumb across her forehead. “It’s okay.”

Marlee lays back, Ben on one side and Walker on the other side of her. She feels startlingly useless in this moment, in a way she never has in Pack. “Was it Sienna?” she asks. There’s a part of her that knows it couldn’t have been anyone else. 

Walker nods. His eyes flicker to Ben and then back to her. For some reason, Marlee feels like blushing, feels the sharp heat of nervousness under her skin. It feels as if something is short-circuiting, a strange jumping from thought to thought with no reason. That odd psychic tug is back at her heart, a mental touch she doesn’t recognize. 

“I’m still tired,” she whispers at last, unsettled and confused. She misses the den, misses their rooms and the comfort of home. 

With a nod, Walker leans in and kisses her cheek, his wide hand warm at the top of her head. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment warm and too close. She shivers. 

Ben keeps his spot on the bed, keeps his hands around hers. She falls asleep only to wake up with a pup curled into the bend of her knees. Ben’s muzzle rests atop her bony knee, soft snuffles of sleep escaping his throat. Marlee lays in the darkness and tries to account for the strange tug in her heart, the confusion lingering. 

It is only days later, once it’s certain that Sienna will survive and Pack is safe, that Lara tells her the truth of it: Marlee was the last to wake by a day, not just hours. They were worried she wouldn’t wake at all. 

When she tells Ben, over cookies and milk in the den nursery, his eyes go glacially cool. 

“I would have woken you up,” he says, serious and solid. 

“I think I could wake myself up,” she says stubbornly. “Besides, how would you even?”

Ben’s mouth turns over in a deep frown. “You don’t trust me? I would!” he protests, voice high. He shoves a cookie in his mouth, scowling. 

Marlee shrugs it off and challenges him to a cookie-eating contest; it leaves them both sick to their stomachs and scolded for spoiling their dinners. But it lingers, this thought of the weak link. She is different from the rest of them, no matter which Pack she’s in. 

*

As fast as anything, Lara is as a part of the family as Brenna or Riley or Drew. The ease with which she passes from kitchen to living room, paperwork and datapads in her hands, it hardly even phases Marlee any longer. Lara is theirs; Dad said so. It took as little time as breathing, really; Ben had told her months ago that Lara and Walker were _weird_ , and now – well, Toby took care of the rest. 

Marlee is always the odd one out, it seems. 

But she loves Lara, and Lara loves them. There’s a resilient kindness in her that’s been missing in their family unit, a maternal fierceness that Marlee has never known. Yelene is a sharply distinct memory, a marker of the past Marlee will never shake; but Lara is always here, buffeting her in warmth and love. It’s still a strange sensation, even with the years of Pack behind her. What she knows for certain is that Lara was always meant for her dad; she knows it in her bones. 

What that means, Marlee isn’t quite sure she understands. 

“How did you know about Dad?” she asks one afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table with her homework. It’s been half a year since the attack on SnowDancer, months of change and growth and shifting; Sienna lives with Hawke now, and Toby spends more time than ever with Sascha. 

Marlee drifts from one group of pups to the next, trying to settle into a place. She and Ben fought for a little while inbetween; he called her weak and she froze him out, because it is a step too close. He apologized, but still. She’ll remember. She’s ten now, and she feels the changes coming; the other day, she moved a chair across the living room for Lara without even thinking about it. But she is not a cardinal anything, is green-eyed and easy to laugh; there is nothing to threaten in her. She doesn’t have the stomach for it, she thinks. 

Lara pauses in the act of fixing herself coffee. It seems that coffee is the only consumable item she knows how to make; Walker makes the majority of their meals in quarters, with Marlee’s help most of the time. 

“I – well – “ Lara makes a small sound of frustration, akin to a growl. “I always felt like there was something different about him.” She glances at Marlee, brown gaze softening. “It wasn’t instant. It took time.”

“Because Dad was difficult.” 

Lara chokes back a laugh. “Sure, we could say that,” she says, grinning as she sits with Marlee at the table. Her slim hands curl around her mug. “But it took time for me, too.”

Marlee sets her datapad down, kicking her legs lightly under the table. She likes their new quarters; she feels at the heart of something warm and fulfilling. “But how did you know?”

Tucking a curl behind her ear, Lara tilts her head. “There’s a – a tug, I guess. I was just drawn to him, and he to me. We were friends first. There are things we both understand about the world,” she says, voice quiet. 

Marlee can’t speak through the lump in her throat. There’s an odd burning behind her eyes, wet and hot. She blinks it away and glances at her abandoned datapad, drumming her fingertips against the table. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Lara asks after a moment, reaching out to touch Marlee’s cheek with the tips of her fingers. 

Wetting her lips, Marlee glances up. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she blurts out. The sensation of affection and love overwhelms her; sometimes, she still thinks she might pass out from all that she now feels. 

Lara’s gaze darkens and flashes with warmth. “Oh, hon. Come here.”

Slipping off her chair, Marlee lets Lara gather her in her lap. The healer is soft and fierce, something solid to lean upon; Marlee thinks she can feel her right there, in her heart, where Walker, Judd, Toby, Sienna, and Ben live. 

“Sometimes, when it’s not too much trouble, can I maybe come watch you in the office?” Marlee asks after a moment, her voice muffled in the strong curve of Lara’s shoulder. 

A warm hand strokes down her back. “Of course you can,” Lara says, voice rich with tenderness. 

They stay as such, Marlee curled into Lara’s embrace until she’s sure she’s hurting the healer. But there is something in Marlee that needs the comfort, the strength of Lara’s will and love. When Walker comes into their quarters, he finds them sitting together. The kiss he leaves on Marlee’s hair is just what she needs. 

*

The years bring wide shifts and changes, as the war settles and turns. Marlee is old enough to know what war means, what the implication of Sienna in a battlefield is, what happens when Uncle Judd won’t wake up for hours. When Mercy goes into labor, both SnowDancer and DarkRiver all but grind to halt, waiting and watching; Marlee is commissioned to sit with Riley through most of the labor pains, as she knows how to make him smile. When the four pupcubs arrive, two boys and two girls yelping and howling, Riley squeezes her so hard she has to catch her breath. 

As time passes, Marlee realizes just how interconnected Pack truly has become with the Laurens. Her family is an axis of immense ability and power, mated with those high in the SnowDancer hierarchy; where Marlee fits within the jigsaw of the web is something of a mystery to her, to everyone. Judd and Brenna have a pup, at last, when Marlee is twelve. A boy, with eyes like Brenna’s and hair like Judd’s, they name him Aiden, and Brenna bemoans her fate even as she laughs. 

“I’m doomed to be surrounded by men,” she says with a tired smile as Lara fusses over her in the healing wing. 

Marlee, holding the squirming Aiden, touches his cheek and smiles. “I’m here,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Immediately Brenna’s gaze widens; Marlee can see the wolf there, lingering and watching. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean – “

“I know,” Marlee laughs as Aiden’s fingers wrap around hers. He has a strong grip already. “I know.”

But she is the offsetting element, a weak link in the fierce Lauren web – now the SnowDancer web – and she feels it keenly. Even in the soothing presence of her uncle’s mate and her new cousin, she is still the ugly duckling in a sea of swans. 

Ben, nearly nine now, finds her alone in a secluded corner of the den, near the nursery. Aiden takes up all the Laurens’ – and indeed the den’s – attentions; no one will miss Marlee for an hour. She sits and reaches out with psychic fingers, using her Tk to trace and smooth the small fissures in the den walls. Her knees tuck up against her chest. 

The hair prickles up on the back of her neck as Ben rounds the corner. He is gawky now, all angles and limbs growing faster than his bones. His thick hair gleams down the nape of his neck in the simulated sunlight. 

“Found you,” he says proudly. 

“I wasn’t hiding,” she mutters, dragging her fingernails over her bare knees. 

He all but runs into her as he sits, his elbow digging into her ribs. Years and biology separate them, but he is still the best friend she’s ever had, perhaps ever will; it leaves her feeling sick and achy in her middle in a way she doesn’t understand still. She remembers cold words and shame, weakness ringing in her ears; but she can forgive, if not forget. 

“Aiden’s cute,” he says.

“I’m happy for them,” she says back, smiling. Smiles come easily, even when she thinks they shouldn’t. 

Batting at her hands as they clench on her knees, Ben shakes his head. “Marlee, c’mon.”

“I _am_ ,” she protests. 

He heaves a dramatic sigh and takes her hand in his. His hands are nearly as large as hers, even with the age difference. She thinks he’ll be so tall, so tall and broad and bright. It overwhelms her, thinking of them as grown up one of these days. 

“I’ll always find you,” is all he says, squeezing her hand. He leans against her, his cheek pressed to her shoulder. There is warmth shuddering right under her skin, scary and confusing. 

“One day, you won’t be able to,” she says softly. There is a different future ahead of the both of them; college for her, she’s sure. Ben will roam, as is usual among most dominant males in the Pack. They will separate and the relationship will shift. He will mate, and she – well, who knows. Where will that leave her in the end?

He growls low in his chest, the sound arresting and startling; it has the ring of an order in it, echoes of Hawke. “Marlee, stop it,” he says with the stubbornness she knows so well. 

A gentle psychic touch reaches her; Toby, wondering where she’s gone. At last, they look, she thinks. Her gaze flickers to Ben, to their joined hands. 

“You’re my best friend,” she breathes, an odd moment of vulnerability. 

Snuffling playfully at her bared neck, Ben grins up at her. “Mine too.”

They sit in the quiet hallway for a few more moments, until the psychic queries are too much to ignore. Marlee feels the warm imprint of Ben’s fingers around hers for hours afterward. 

*

At last, she and Toby make their way out of the nursery and into the beginnings of the hierarchy at large. Toby begins his novice solider training, rather successfully. His E abilities, strengthened by mentorship by Sascha, have become a real asset to the den, apart from his other abilities. Marlee does the training as well, but focuses mostly on her studies, and on spending time with Lara in the healing wing. Her Tk abilities are nowhere near as powerful as Judd’s, but she can help in limited ways; she wants to learn to help more. 

It’s Sienna who puts the idea into her head at last, one of the rare times when Sienna’s schedule loosens enough to let Marlee have her all to herself. With Hawke on a day trip to the city, and Toby busy with novice training, Sienna takes Marlee out into the deep woods of the SnowDancer territories, tall leafy trees bowing their branches over their heads. 

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Sienna says after a long while of walking and silence. Her hair streams out behind her as they walk, a long fall of dark ruby waves over her back. Years have changed little of her physically; she is still lithe and fierce, her eyes cardinal-dark. 

Marlee tucks her own plain strawberry-blonde hair behind her ears and tilts her head. “Have I?” she asks, blinking into the daylight as it filters through the leaves and branches. 

“Yes,” Sienna says, blunt and sharp as always. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Marlee murmurs, smiling slightly. 

Sienna’s mouth twists. Her poker face has steadily declined in the last few years, especially around Hawke. She is still the calculated soldier and woman Marlee remembers from years ago, but she is easier and less thorny around the edges now, sure and confident of her place in the world. Part of it is because of Hawke, Marlee realizes; but part of it is also Sienna’s own faith in her abilities and power, what she’s grown into. That kind of security is enviable.

“You don’t have to smile all the time, sweetheart,” Sienna says at last, climbing on top of a large boulder and taking a seat. Beyond them, a clear ice-blue pond glistens in the sunlight. The trees sing with the trills of birds and life. 

Marlee sits on the boulder next to her, muscles strained and slightly breathless. “I am a smiling person,” she retorts. 

“You’ve got to have some Lauren fight in you, too,” Sienna says with a faint grin. It cuts Marlee to the quick, to think she is not Lauren enough. “Is it your training?”

Glancing at her palms, Marlee says nothing. There are calluses and blisters on her hands from the fighting staffs, the mock hand-to-hand battles; she truly doesn’t believe her hands were made for this kind of work, but SnowDancer is a Pack of warriors and soldiers of all kinds. She cannot betray the ideals of the Pack who took her family in when they had nothing to give. 

When she’s talked to Ben about it, Ben who is all of eleven now and is taking to the beginners’ combat training like a fish to water, he doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he wants to fill the silence with his advice, but can’t bring himself to do so. She can’t explain why; it’s just another domino in a falling line of their changing relationship. 

“Walker says you spend a lot of time in the healing wing,” Sienna says at last, breaking the nature-hummed silence. 

“I like it there,” Marlee pipes up at last. “I feel – I feel useful there.”

A lean hand reaches out and touches her hair, tucks it behind her ear. “You don’t elsewhere?”

Marlee fixes Sienna with a strong stare, cheeks blazed with heat. “In our family, it’s hard to,” she says flatly. It’s the first time she’s ever said it out loud to anyone other than Ben. 

Night-sky eyes widen and Sienna’s mouth parts in an o of surprise. Her hand falls away from Marlee’s face back to her side. Face burning, Marlee tucks her knees up to her chest. The rock is warm and steady under her. 

“I’m not the same,” she says at last. “I’m not as strong. I wouldn’t care, except – “

“Except look at the rest of us,” Sienna finishes, voice heavy. Marlee has no empathetic abilities, but the tension grips her like a vise. “I – I can’t imagine.”

_No_ , Marlee thinks, a little sullen and sharp. To have too much power, to be too much for one body, is a very different animal from being too little and small for an entire unit. 

“But you feel at home with Lara,” Sienna says after a moment. There is a sadness in her voice that nearly crushes Marlee. She wishes she could smile it away; not today, though. “You like healing.”

Marlee bites her lip and glances at her cousin, all long limbs and sun-saturated hair in the yellow daylight. “I think I could be good at it,” she says after a moment, her thoughts lingering on her studies, the high marks year in and year out, nearly the highest in her age group. “I’m not – I’m not a fighter, Sienna.”

Sienna tilts her head and shifts closer, smoothing a hand through the long fall of Marlee’s hair. “I’m really glad for that,” she says at last. Marlee can hear the haunting behind her words; it’s as cold as the Sierra winters. “I’ll talk to Walker.”

Perking up, Marlee peers at Sienna, the untouchable cousin she sometimes thinks she’ll never truly know at all. “Really?”

Nodding, Sienna leans into kiss Marlee’s cheek. Her lips are cool against Marlee’s skin. “You deserve to find your place too, sweetheart.”

Marlee watches as Sienna’s gaze shifts just slightly, a smile turning the corners of her mouth. Her body language changes ever so faintly, a softening of the hard angles hammered into her from youth. She turns towards the edge of the clearing, through the trees. Looking back, Marlee follows her cousin’s gaze until – 

“Oh,” Marlee whispers, the sleek pale-gold of Hawke’s wolf form shimmering in the sunlight. “Wow.”

“Showoff,” Sienna huffs, though her smile widens by the moment. “He just wants to impress you.”

The alpha wolf stalks towards them, teeth bared in a friendly grin. Marlee, who rarely sees Hawke as it is, especially in wolf form, is transfixed by the sight of him. But the impulse to hide her gaze is strong, to bow her head and wait for him to speak to her first. 

Without any compunction, Sienna hops off the boulder and unfolds herself to her full height, hands on her hips. “You were supposed to leave us alone,” she says. 

Halting, the wolf sits and tilts his head, eyes pale and still, as blue as the water behind them. 

Sienna’s brow wrinkles. “Possessive idiot,” she mutters. 

“I should go,” Marlee murmurs, scrambling off of her edge of the boulder. There’s a terrible ache in her middle, a longing she can’t place. There’s a sure sense of belonging she can feel between the two of them; she wonders if it will ever be the same for her. 

Reaching out, Sienna takes Marlee’s wrist. “He’s fine, sweetheart. We can finish up. He’s a patient wolf, aren’t you?” she teases, eyebrow raised. 

The wolf growls, low and non-threatening. He pads over and noses Sienna’s open palm with his wet muzzle, the sun reflecting splices of light off of his coat. 

“It’s okay,” Marlee says, smiling with a brightness she doesn’t feel all the way through. “Really. Thanks, Sienna.”

The mated pair run her down to the edge of the den, and then separate away into the wilderness. Marlee waits near the entrance to the den and watches them retreat into the woods, Sienna batting the wolf away with playful hands. It’s respect and affection and love, deep and abiding; the sensation of it pierces her straight through. 

*

“I like helping Lara,” she says heatedly to her father, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday. 

Solider training leaves her rubbed raw and frustrated every day; she isn’t as fast or as strong as the other juveniles, and though they don’t throw it in her face, she’s a smart girl. She has never been a child, for all the sunshine and light she feels, and the nightmares of the Net come to her in these moments. When she takes a friend’s wrists in her hands in mock battle, she feels the weight of her family’s sins on her shoulders. What she had said to Sienna is true: she is not meant for war. 

Sitting at the kitchen table, Walker’s gaze flickers between his daughter and his mate. Toby is with DarkRiver tonight (what Marlee doesn’t say is that there is a DarkRiver novice soldier who’s caught his eye, but she thinks Lara might know; Sienna certainly does), so it’s just the three of them. It’s becoming a regular habit, the three of them together in their quarters; Marlee has Ben, will always have Ben; but Ben is just coming into his juvenile age, and there’s a strange sort of separation between them. That, and he is spending time with the other cubs his age, letting the relationships and connections settle between them, as well as trying to provide guidance to his younger brother. She feels less like Pack in these moments than she ever has. 

(What people don’t say but that she’s smart enough to pick up by now: Ben is already exhibiting signs of an alpha in training. Marlee knows she can’t fit anywhere in with a future like that.)

“I’m good at this,” she says when neither Walker nor Lara speak up. “And maybe, if my Tk abilities advance, I can – “

“It would take too much out of you to perform Tk healing on a regular basis,” Walker says, eyes very bright in the low-lit room. 

Marlee bristles and slumps back in her chair. She takes her father at his word, because he knows; but still. “I don’t mean now. I mean later. And I can still help now. Like an apprenticeship.”

“I could use the help,” Lara says, voice soothing. “Especially – “

She stops, glancing at Walker. Marlee looks between them, a prickle of _something_ catching the edges of her skin. “Is Lucy leaving?” she asks at last. The nurse has been with Lara for years, with little time to roam or experience life in other dens. 

“No, she’s not,” Lara says after a moment, curls falling about her face. “But – I’ll need the help.”

“Why?” Marlee asks, blinking. 

Walker covers Lara’s hand with his on the table. His gaze, unusually bright and clear, meets Marlee’s. “Lara is pregnant.”

For a moment, Marlee is so still, she feels as if she is back in the Net, all cool control and clarity. She feels the weight of two gazes on her; the nervousness is palpable in the air. There’s a strange taste in the back of her throat, acrid and sharp. 

Then, she smiles; it’s the brilliant smile that everyone in the den talks about, the one she’s practiced for years. “That’s amazing!” she exclaims, pushing back from the table and running to encircle Lara in her arms. She presses her cheek to Lara’s and breathes in. It is amazing – five years of trying, really. Five years of watching others give birth, of wanting. And now – 

Lara kisses her cheek, stroking a hand over her smooth hair. “You’re happy about a little brother or sister?”

“Of course,” Marlee says, all smiles. Her eyes lock with her father’s, finds the small smile playing at his mouth. It’s all she can do not to cry. Was he that happy when he found out about her?

“So, I absolutely have to help out,” she continues, pulling back and propping a hand on her hip. 

Walker’s lips twitch. His hand strokes over Lara’s hair, a gentle caress as familiar as air to Marlee now. “I suppose. As long as your studies don’t suffer, and Hawke approves.”

“Does this mean I can skip the rest of novice soldier training?” she begs, leaning her hip against Lara. 

“That is Hawke’s call,” Walker says, gaze fixed on her. “I will check in with him.”

Marlee doesn’t say that’s she fairly sure that Sienna could convince Hawke of almost anything at this point, as much as they bicker. There is no unequal distribution of power in that relationship, or in Sascha and Lucas’s; Toby thinks it’s because of the cardinal – alpha similarities. Marlee doesn’t like to think about it; it leaves her feeling sick to her stomach with a strange ache. 

Later, Marlee presses her ear to her bedroom door and listens as Walker and Lara’s voices rise and fall from the living room.

“She’s not a soldier, Walker. Frankly, she’s more of a submissive than anything – “

“Psy don’t operate in those terms,” Walker says tersely. 

Lara huffs, a sharp press of air that Marlee can hear through the heavy wood door. Biting her lip, Marlee opens the door just a crack, a sliver of yellow light from the hall seeping into her darkened bedroom. 

“Don’t be stubborn. She can fill a submissive role in Pack – you know that’s not a bad position. And it makes sense. She likes to help people, to heal – she would do well to become a nurse, a healer’s assistant,” Lara says flatly, the healer coming out in her tone. 

“But what if – “

“You don’t know that it’ll happen that way,” Lara cuts him off, voice rising with warning. “They’re still young. Sienna and Toby are just guessing.”

Mouth thinning, Marlee shuts the door once more and slides down to sit against it, her knees pressed to her chest. _Submissive_ , she thinks, wrapping her arms around her knees. There is no shame; just a deep-seeded sensation of disjunction. 

She wants to ask Ben what he thinks, but pushes the thought aside. He wouldn’t understand. 

Within a month, Marlee is in the healing wing between classes and homework, her solider training knocked down to just the most basic defensive course. 

“This is what you want?” Ben asks as they linger alone in the hallway outside the Lauren quarters. His dark gaze fixes on her, nearly level with hers. He is sprouting up taller and taller every month, like the high grasses near the eastern borders. 

Marlee nods, touching nervous fingers to the hair tucked behind her ears. “You know it’s best,” she says quietly. “I’m not – I’m not a fighter.”

“Don’t be down on yourself, Marlee,” he says, voice low. The changes in his body, chemical and physical, are rushing on him. Soon, he will be all man. 

“I’m not,” she protests, gaze flickering up to meet his briefly. “I’m trying to find a place, just like everyone else.”

Scuffing the toes of his shoes into the ground, he reaches out and takes her hands in his, a familiar and comforting gesture. It leaves her twisted and shaken inside, especially as his thumb smooths over the rise of her knuckles. “Maybe I’ll get hurt on purpose so I can see you.”

“That would be silly,” she says, slightly breathless. 

He shrugs, all power and casualness in the lines of his limbs. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I will be,” she says, even as she is unsure of the truth of her words. 

Ben’s mouth settles, and he drops her hand gently. She feels the loss of the skin to skin contact like a knife to her gut. “You’re great, Marlee,” he says at last. 

She thinks about the words later on, between a quiet dinner where Lara eats nothing but peanut butter and mashed potatoes, and Walker sits back and observes, a laughing smile playing at his lips. Marlee keeps Ben’s words precious and close to her chest, a warm flicker of light in the strange dark places inside her. 

*

Lara gives birth to a daughter with dark fuzz for hair and Walker’s pale green eyes, Marlee’s eyes. The labor is smooth and effortless, apart from the pain of contractions. Marlee is there in the room with Lara; Tamsyn, the DarkRiver healer, came to assist Lucy in the birth, as the other SnowDancer healers across the territories were too far to be considered on-call. 

Marlee fetches water and ice chips and anesthetics, warm damp towels and swaddling clothes. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches her father sit at the head of the bed with Lara, half of her leaning on his chest, her hands wrapped around his arms. It strikes at the very heart of her, the wondering; she has no idea what her own birth was like. Walker had never shared, and Sienna and Judd are particularly tight-lipped. But she knows Toby and Sienna were born with Walker in the room at his sister’s side, and she wonders just how she was brought into the world. 

“A cinch,” Tamsyn says with a warm smile afterwards, checking Lara’s vitals and wiping the new mother’s brow. “You’re good at this.”

Lara and Walker both beam, the simulated sunlight casting a warm glow against their faces. The baby, Kristina, shuts her eyes to the world and turns into Lara’s chest, skin to skin. Walker wraps his arms around the both of them, a cocoon of affection and stability and fierce love. The hair on the nape of Marlee’s neck rises with it, the sheer force of it a psychic shift in the room. 

A gentle hand touches Marlee’s wrist as she lingers near the doorway of the room. “You were wonderful,” Tamsyn says to her when she meets the healer’s eyes. “A settling presence, and incredibly helpful. I wish all my assistants were like you.”

Marlee blushes, smiles slightly. “Thank you,” she says, gaze falling to her father and Lara and her new baby sister. 

Tamsyn squeezes her hand and drops away. “I think there are some people outside waiting,” she says, nodding to the door. 

“Oh – “ Marlee pauses, glancing at Walker. “Should I – “

“Absolutely, sweetheart,” Lara says with a bright smile, her eyes dark with affection as she looks at Marlee. “Tell Hawke, and then come back in.”

Chest tightening with hot bright sparks of love, Marlee ducks her head and slips out of the room. In the waiting area of the infirmary, Hawke and Sienna and Judd wait – as well as Brenna, Toby, the lieutenants, some of the senior soldiers. The room is stuffed to the gills; again, Marlee is struck by the amount of affection and devotion within Pack. It catches her off-guard, the amount of eyes fixed on her. 

“Oh.” She blinks, a flush suffusing her cheeks. “Well – it’s a girl.”

A cheer rips up from the crowd, applause rumbling through the group. Hawke grins that sharp wolf smile, all teeth and tan skin, and takes Sienna in his arms. Sienna protests even as her arms go around his neck and she buries her smile in the long line of his throat. Judd and Brenna with Aiden in her arms rush Marlee and bring her into a four-way hug. Her uncle’s kiss on her cheek startles her still; years without Silence, and his affection remains a shock. Everyone is there, laughing and clapping; it makes Marlee feel small, to be around all that joy. 

A hand grasps hers; she comes face to face with Toby, tall and lean and eyes as clear as a night sky. 

“Hey,” he says, squeezing her hand. “You okay?”

Marlee wets her lips and swallows, placing her mental shields up high enough to keep him out, but not enough to worry. She’s learned over time to do so; Toby is overly helpful with his empathy. She wants her feelings to remain her own; she isn’t ten and scared of her own shadow any longer. 

“Happy,” she said, that familiar smile curving her lips. “I’m happy.”

He hugs her, and is then swept into the arms of his sister. Marlee glances at the door to Lara’s room, thinks to go back in; but her heart isn’t in it today, just for this selfish moment. She weaves between the lieutenants and mates and children, slipping into the quiet hallway for a breath of cool air. The blush suffusing her cheeks doesn’t fade; she cups her face in her own hands and leans against the wall, coolness pressing through her clothes. 

“You’re out here!”

She glances up at Ben. He’s grown about five inches in the last year, all gangly limbs and sharp cheekbones. A strange gnawing sensation crawls through her middle. 

“There are a lot of people in there,” she says, a smile pasting its way onto her face. “Did Ava send you?” The dominant maternal seemed to have a soft spot for Marlee, born of the close relationship to her eldest son. 

Dark eyes fix on her. He’s already taller than her, will be taller still. His hand wraps around her wrists and tugs her hands from her face. Hers are small in his too-large for his body hands, cupped and surrounded in warmth. “Marlee, you don’t lie to me.”

It’s a simple truth, one she can’t deny. “They’re so happy,” she says at last, voice thin and reedy. “And – I just – “

Tears prick hot behind her eyes. She blinks and he is pulling her into his arms all of a sudden, smelling of wolf and pine and familiarity and boy. Her face fits into the curve of his neck and she rests her forehead there, skin to skin. His arms, thin and all angles, wrap around her shoulders and hold her tight. He will grow into this long awkward body, she knows. He will grow into many things. 

“I don’t know where I fit,” she croaks out, voice wet and unsteady. 

His arms tighten around her. “You fit here, Marlee-Barley,” he mutters, sounding so much older than twelve. “With me.”

They stay locked together for a few moments, until she feels Toby’s gentle mental questioning, Walker’s own faint query. She breathes in deeply and wipes her eyes, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, feeling as if a child. 

Ben smooths his hands over her arms, grinning a little. He is tan with all the outdoor training, his teeth white and sharp in the light. “Hey. Best friends, right?”

“Right,” she says, sighing quietly. 

They walk back in together, and no one makes a sound, still overwhelmed with the joy of another pup born. When Marlee slips back into Lara’s room, Lara immediately reaches out for her and brings her into the circle of her arms. She feels nine again, curled up to Lara’s side with her father’s broad hand on the top of her head. 

“Nothing changes this,” Lara murmurs, even as her eyes fix on Walker as he rocks Kristina in his steady arms. “Nothing changes us.”

Marlee takes the promise, but knows better. She’s the smart one, after all.

*

Blood promises mean everything to changelings. Revenge is built upon spilled blood; the bonds of lieutenants and sentinels are forged in shared blood. 

When the news leaks out that Marlee is going to the city for college, will live outside the den for the first time, there is joy and concern. The Lauren family is safe from the clutches of Ming LeBon, killed just a few years ago. Marlee doesn’t know _how_ ; but she has her suspicions. Walker is uneasy with the prospect of her being so far, but with Toby roaming all across the country and world now, the strength of their psychic bond is not his concern. It is for _her_ , and Marlee is half-appreciative, half-appalled. 

But Lara eases the way, with the comfort and love she has brought to their family unit, and with Kristina growing up, there is much to keep them occupied. Sienna, too, is supportive; thinking perhaps of her time in the DarkRiver den, how it helped stabilize her in a way. Hawke ruffles Marlee’s hair and gives the plan the alpha stamp of approval, while Brenna and Judd help her pick the right school and training program for her skills. It will be nursing – at this point, it could be little less. Riley and Drew pack an assortment of defensive materials and weapons for her use, much to her chagrin; but they had a sister in the city for school once upon a time, too. 

The night before she is to leave, Marlee leaves the den for one last walk through her favorite stretch of Sierra wood. The Laurens had a small going-away party for her the night before, and her goodbyes are said. There is nothing permanent about her leaving, but it does feel as if a part of her is remaining behind, as if the world is shifting under her feet. What will be next to change, she wonders.

Summer lingers in the night air, humid and warm. The trees yawn over her as she stops in her favorite clearing, breathing in the sharp woody scent. It is clean and bright to her nose, settling all her senses; she takes a seat against a thick-trunked tree, stretching her legs out in front of her. She is still small, the shortest Lauren, all elbows at times. The odd duckling out. 

There’s a rustling in the brush behind her, and she tilts her neck. No fear permeates through her; this land is safe and home, always. Her gaze meets Ben’s dark wolf-eyes, narrow and guarded, as he slips out from the trees and approaches her. Even in the starry evening light, she can see the tightness of his face, the sharpness of his cheekbones. Dark hair falls across his brow. Fifteen now, she thinks; fifteen, and has seen more of battle and the remains of war than others in a lifetime. 

“Hi,” she says as he approaches. 

He sits next to her against the tree trunk, shoulder to hip to knee. As he stretches out his legs, she notices again how much more of him there is, all legs and arms and wide hands. 

“I wish you weren’t going,” is all he said, voice husky. Puberty has hit him all at once, his voice shifting and changing. He has taken the news of her leaving the worst, though he has enough on his plate with soldier training to more than occupy. There’s a possessiveness of her that startles, a claim she isn’t sure he should make or she should accept. But there’s a part of her that has always been his, when she was six and a silent waif of a child in the middle of a den of wolves. 

“I have to,” she says. It’ a conversation they’ve had many times over the summer. It is the one time he has never won an argument with her. Here, she stands her ground. “I want to.”

“You want to leave me?” he says churlishly, mouth set in a frown. 

“Don’t be melodramatic,” she murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ears. Around them, the woods are night-quiet; she can hear the faint call of owls high above them in the trees. “I’m coming back.”

He huffs, bony hands fisting on his thighs. “It won’t be the same. Marlee – “

“Don’t,” she says quickly, a hard lump in her throat. “Ben, don’t –“

“I’m trying to _tell_ you something,” he argues, the wolf strong in his gaze as he stares at her. 

She reaches out and covers his mouth with her palm, suddenly terrified of the look in his eyes. The skin to skin contact is a rush. He is warm as a fever to her touch. “Please, _don’t_ ,” she begs. 

He licks her palm, and there is nothing playful about it. 

Taking her hand back, she stares at him. He stares back, stubborn, until she drops her gaze to the forest floor, the cracking grass and twigs beneath them. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, knows he can hear it. There’s an ache in her middle she doesn’t like, makes her feel as hollow as old bones. 

Abruptly, he blows out a hard breath. His wide hand wraps around hers, squeezing. “I’m sorry,” he says, the sincerity of it striking her deeply. 

She glances at him and swallows hard. “Okay,” she says, accepting it as she accepts so much of him. She is the stable, gentle one. She has to be. 

Jaw tight with tension, he keeps her gaze, eyes blazing. “Will you do something for me?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

Her nod is instinctual. When he digs into his jeans and pulls out a small pocket knife, she starts. Her fingers flinch in his. But she doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Marlee – I – “

“Okay,” she whispers, voice shaky. “But –are you sure?”

The fierceness of his gaze, the sheer loyalty of the wolf inside, almost knocks her for a loop. “I will always be there for you,” he says, words scraping like sandpaper. “I promise.”

Her fingers curve in his instinctually. “I promise too,” she whispers, the night cloaking her blush. She’s certain he can feel it anyway. 

With a quick smile, he flicks open the knife. Turning his palm up, he cuts just deep enough to draw blood. There is no flinch in his eyes. He reaches for her hand, and she opens it to him, heart lodged in her throat. The blade is precise and quick, just a flicker against her palm. 

When their open palms meet, she feels the jolt of it deep in her bones, to the marrow. It’s only a moment of joining, their blood mingling for the briefest of seconds, but she thinks she can feel him in her very heartbeat. 

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” she says moments later. He’s ripped off the sleeve of his t-shirt and she’s using the cloth to staunch the cut to his palm. 

He leans his forehead against hers, his arm around her shoulders. “No you don’t.”

“Maybe I do,” she retorts, glancing up at him. “What are you expecting, Ben?”

He smiles slightly, all teeth and soft lines. “I told you, I’ll always find you.”

“What if I don’t want to be found by you?” she counters even as she dabs at his palm, pressing her cloth-covered thumb to the cut. His changeling healing skills are already at work, but still. This is pure instinct for her. 

“That will never happen,” he says with the stubborn certainty of young wolves. 

Rolling her eyes, she throws the blood-speckled cotton at his chest. “Sometimes, I just – “

And then his mouth is on hers, a soft awkward brush of a kiss. The wound on her palm throbs; it will leave a scar. Her eyes are wide open as his hands cup her face and his lips shift over hers, a strange stilted dance. She feels every inch of his power, his heart, the recklessness of youth in his touch. Her hands curve over his wrists, her own form of possession. A flush suffuses her entire body, her toes curling in her sneakers. 

“Shit,” he breathes against her mouth, eyes wolf-dark. “I didn’t – Marlee- “

Every vein in her body aches with hollow wanting. Her pulse throbs in her ears. “It was bound to happen sometime,” she whispers, his lips still close to hers. All she wants is for him to bite, to mark her throat and keep her close. But she is nineteen and he is fifteen and he is an alpha in training, and there isn’t enough power and strength in her to keep up. 

“Yeah,” he says at last, voice flat. “It was.” The look in his eyes cuts her to the bone. 

His hands fall from her face and he helps her to her feet. The walk back to the den is quiet and painful. Every step feels like another leap away from him. She can still feel the burn of his mouth on hers. 

When she returns to the Lauren quarters, Lara is sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee sitting in front of her. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, dark clouds of curls. Her fox-brown eyes fix on Marlee as she walks in. 

“You were gone a long time,” she says, affection and worry lacing her tone. 

Marlee hovers near the doorway to the hall, where her packed-up room lays. Her hand fists against the healing cut on her palm. Lara can smell the blood, smell Ben – _shit_. “Ben met me. We said goodbye,” she says at last, voice steady. A smile as natural as breathing creeps up her mouth. Her mental shields are settled against the gentle inquiries of her father. 

Lara watches her for a quiet moment. “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here,” she says finally. 

Relief slides through Marlee like sunlight, warmth flushing her face. “I know,” she says softly. Tears prick the back of her eyes. 

Rising, Lara comes over and enfolds Marlee in her arms. Shaking slightly, Marlee tucks her face into the curve of Lara’s shoulder and holds on. If Lara’s shirt is damp from tears, neither of them mentions a word of it. 

*

It’s a cold crisp winter night when Marlee drives back to the den for the first time after leaving for college in the city. Toby had urged her to go further. But Marlee is a homebody at heart, loves this den that took her in so long ago and raised her as their own. Besides, she likes to be close enough if Walker and Lara need her, especially with Kristina almost four and starting to make trouble, and another baby on the way. They haven’t called on her yet; but she wants to be close. 

Night falls thick and gloomy over the Sierra; she drives with care, thinking of her dorm room, the quilt spread across the bed waiting for her return. Tarah, with help from Evie and some of the other maternals in the den, had made her the quilt as a going-away gift back in the summer. She sleeps with it every night, treasures the gift that it is. 

As she pulls into the den garage, the overhead lights flicker on. She parks smoothly and hops out, breathing in the familiar smells of home already. She has just closed her hand over her overnight bag when a hand spans her waist and she turns with a gasp, thick hair that’s darkened from strawberry-blonde to a soft auburn flying around her shoulders. 

“Ben!” she shrieks, heart throbbing fast in her chest. 

Ben grins at her, and she’s so startled by the sight of him in the flesh that she can’t breathe for the longest time. Sixteen in a few months, he’s finally grown into his limbs; broad-shouldered, a solid head and shoulders taller than her. Her eyes trace his features, sharp angles and soft eyes. There’s power in his gaze and his every movement now, a strange reckoning of a future always suspected by those close to him. 

There is the phantom memory of a kiss in the woods on her lips. She resists the urge to touch her mouth. The scar on her palm seems to sear her skin. 

“You’re letting your hair grow out,” is the first thing she says, leaning against the back bumper of the sport-utility vehicle her father forced on her, as opposed to the small cute compact car she initially wanted. 

Ben smirks and leans against the bumper with her, shoulder to hip with her. His dark hair falls sleekly down the nape of his neck. “Thought I’d try it out.”

Like Hawke, she thinks. Like the alpha he’s always emulated and admired; the role model for a future that will be his. Cheeks red, she glances away. “You look – different,” she says at last. The video calls only show so much, only once a week. She finds she’s missed him like a limb; so used to seeing him every day, even with their different paths in the den, to not do so has been painful. 

He takes her hands in his and squeezes. The skin to skin contact is a rush; she has been so surrounded by humans and Psys at school that she finds herself longing for changeling ways. Their palms rest against each other; she jerks, as if touched by a livewire. 

“So do you. You’re so pretty, Marlee,” he says, all youthful earnestness. It’s as if the kiss never happened. 

_Good_ , she thinks, even as her heart all but breaks. She can’t give him what he’ll need. She never was able to. 

“Stop it,” she murmurs, ducking her head. 

He leans in, his mouth near her ear. “You are,” he murmurs, voice like liquid heat to her bones. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, she pushes up from the bumper and slips her hand from his. “I should get inside. Dad will worry,” she says, heart racing. She has no face for poker, has no skill at hiding anything from him; she knows he can feel every pulse of her heart, the strange twisting of want and need in her middle. 

He watches her silently, hunting-quiet, as she grabs her bag and shuts the trunk. The sound echoes hollowly in the garage. Her nerves are too sharp, anxiety clawing at her skin. 

“You smell like other men,” he says after a moment, voice low. 

She blinks, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I have friends at school,” she says slowly, voice even. 

Ben frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Friends.”

“Yes, Ben. _Friends_ ,” she says, suddenly unraveled and angry. The rush of emotion pricks at her, her chest tightening with it. “I’m sure you smell like the other girls in your classes, but you don’t see me freaking out about it.”

Shrugging, he walks towards her. “I’d be fine if you did.”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, the rare curse.

“Let me take you out for dinner while you’re home,” he says, looking much older than his years. The wolf is right there in his gaze; she imagines she can feel his claws pricking against the skin. Her scar aches with the want of his touch. 

“That is a bad idea,” she says flatly, swallowing down the urge to touch him skin to skin. “A very bad idea, that will give people the wrong idea.”

“Two friends going to dinner?” he retorts, cocking his head to the side. 

Marlee resists the urge to toss her bag right at his face. Only Ben gets her this riled up, this frustrated; she hates it, the irritating lack of emotional control he brings out in her. “You know that’s not what people would think.”

His hand clasps her elbow. She jumps at the contact, his skin warming her even through her thick winter jacket. “Good.”

“You’re acting like a child,” she shoots out at him, tugging away from his grip. “You should know better.”

Gaze darkening, he doesn’t let her go. “I didn’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop asking for impossibilities,” she retorts, eyes narrow. She can see the pulse throbbing in his neck, the tendons standing out on his bare arms. For all her words, this is no child; he is a man now, and will soon take his place in the hierarchy. She cannot be the one to hold him back; she has always been the weak link, and she refuses to do that to another person. 

His hand reaches for her bag, hanging at her side. “Here, let me – “

“I’m not a weakling,” she says, tugging away from him. The words of his six-year-old self echo out from her mouth. She has never forgotten the careless words of children not yet grown, for there is truth starkly revealed in it. “I can handle it.”

Fury darkens his gaze. His hands curl into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he grits out through his teeth. “I’ll walk with you.”

This, she allows. To be as curt and terse with him as she has is bitter and acrid to her every instinct, but it’s self-preservation. He refuses to see the truth of it, but Marlee knows. There is no place for a weak Tk-Psy in the life of a future pack alpha. Strength begets strength; she only has to look to her own family to see so. 

“I’m sorry,” she says when they reach the door to the Lauren quarters. The halls are quiet, even for this time at night. 

Ben blinks, wolf gaze unreadable. “You haven’t scared me off yet.”

She leans against the wall, mouth pursing thinly as he edges closer to her. “You’re my best friend. I’m not trying to scare you off,” she says. 

A slight slip of teeth, a sharp grin against tan skin. “Good.”

Before she can say another word, he leans down and kisses her. His lips move with awkward purpose against her, his hands finding the jut of her hips. Her bag drops to the floor as she raises her hands to his chest, flattening them there. The pulse in her throat jumps, her blood hot under the skin. 

“Ben, _stop_ \- “ she says when he moves his mouth to breathe, his forehead pressed to hers. “This is not – “

He kisses her again, an awkward stopping of her words. Disjointed and confused, she shuts her eyes and _pushes_ , the limited expanses of her Tk sizzling under her skin. He shoves back from her a few feet, eyes wide and wolf-black with want. 

“Play nice,” she says at last, voice hoarse. There’s exhaustion settling in her. She can feel her father’s worry, the explosion of power so unlike her. Marlee, the one who smiles and heals. 

Ben blinks, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry – Marlee – “

The door opens, and Walker steps out from the thickly-illuminated doorway. Ben straightens up immediately as Marlee picks up her bag and smiles at her dad. Walker’s eerily pale green eyes move between the two of them; her mental shields gently rebuff his telepathic queries. 

“You’re running late,” is all her father says, gaze settling on her. 

“I ran into Ben,” she says, gaze flickering to the wolf. 

Ben comes over and touches her elbow, eyes not moving from Walker. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Marlee,” he says, words laced with a promise she feels in her veins. Then, with a nod to Walker, he turns and strides down the hallway. 

She doesn’t watch him leave, though the urge is strong. 

“You just used your Tk in an odd way,” Walker says after a moment. 

“Showing off,” she says airily, following him into the living room of the quarters. “Where’s Lara?”

“Late shift. She’ll be here soon. Kristina is asleep,” he says, shutting the door behind them. “Marlee – “

“It’s fine, Dad,” she says heavily, dropping her bag and facing her father, her hands on her hips. “Ben is just being _Ben_.”

“He’s going to be the next alpha,” Walker says evenly, though his eyes are warm with affection and worry. The lights in the room reflect in his hair, the blonde she doesn’t share. This hair is her mother’s, a mother she remembers just as a ghost and a cruel abandonment. What else did she receive from Yelene?

“I know,” she says quietly. The scar on her palm aches with the knowledge. 

Walker doesn’t speak for a moment, moving into the room and putting his hands on Marlee’s shoulders. She feels the tension slip from her with the comforting action. “You are my little girl,” he says at last. “I want you to be happy, whatever that means.”

She wants to say it doesn’t mean Ben, that she knows the futility of this; but her mouth crumples and she presses her face into his chest, letting him hold her and rock her. Nineteen and still a child; here, she is weak, just as they believe. “I wouldn’t be enough,” she breathes out at last, voice thick. “I know that, Dad.”

His wide hands stroke down her back. “That is not remotely true,” he says near her ear, his lips at her hair. “Marlee, you are – “

“I’m weak,” she blurts out. 

Hands stilling on her back, he is very quiet for a moment, in a way that frightens her. “That just is not the case,” he says finally, voice carefully controlled. 

“I am, I am – you’re not a cardinal, but I know you’re – Dad, I _know_ ,” she says through ragged breaths. Her hands fist at her sides. “I’m the weak link, I’m not _enough_ –“

Walker rocks her as she dissolves into the tears she thinks she’s been keeping in for years, his arms strong and steady around her. She is still crying, ugly choked sounds that grate on her ears, when Lara comes in. The healer glows with five months of pregnancy, though her face falls as soon as she sees Walker and Marlee. 

“I came as soon as I could,” she says, dropping her bag and hurrying over with more grace than expected. “Oh sweetheart – “

At the first touch of Lara’s hands on her, Marlee shakes her head and pushes away, wiping furiously at her eyes. “I can’t – I’m sorry – I’m okay, I’m okay,” she blurts out. 

Lara’s nose twitches, her eyes flickering to Walker’s stricken gaze and back to Marlee. “That idiot boy,” she mutters before taking Marlee’s hands. “Come on. Bedtime.”

Sniffling violently, Marlee lets them both tuck her in, the familiar blankets and decorations of her youth soothing her frayed nerves. Lara sits on the edge of her bed as Walker hovers near the doorway. 

“I’m okay,” Marlee repeats for the tenth time, curled up on her side facing Lara. She makes herself small, a comma of limbs and hair under the blankets.

Hand smoothing the hair from her red cheeks, Lara nods. “I know you are, hon.”

Hesitantly Marlee looks at Walker. He is all control and pale eyes, mouth tight in the sharp lines of his face. “It’s not Ben’s fault, Dad,” she says, voice thick. Her thumb presses to the scar that carries his name, his blood.

“I know that,” Walker says after a moment, words low in his throat. 

“Walker, darling – why don’t you go check on Kristina?” Lara says, looking back at Walker. The room is quiet between them, but Marlee feels the hair rise on the back of her neck; the telepathic bond between her father and Lara has only grown stronger as the years pass, even as Marlee’s Tp has weakened with the diverting of her energy to her Tk abilities. 

Walker leaves at last, promising pancakes in the morning. Immediately, Lara shifts closer to Marlee and reaches for her hand. 

“Something happened before you left for school,” Lara says after a moment. 

Marlee lets her uncurl her fingers, the fight gone from her. The scar is white and tiny, just a ridge in the middle of her palm. Ben’s changeling powers healed his wound too fast to scar; she will keep hers for the rest of her life. Lara’s fingers touch her palm lightly. 

“He asked me to,” Marlee says when Lara remains silent. “And – I – “

“We’ve been talking about it, and perhaps we can spend a week in the city with you for your spring break,” Lara says smoothly, gaze brimming with sympathy. “And then you won’t have to come back until summer.”

Tears burn at the backs of Marlee’s eyes. “Is it that bad?” she whispers. 

Palm cupping her cheek, Lara leans in and kisses Marlee’s forehead. The slight rise of her stomach presses against Marlee, a reminder of the new life on the way. “We want you to live your life, Marlee. We want you to have fun and meet boys – well, I want you to. Your father doesn’t need to know about that,” she says wryly. “And Ben – Ben doesn’t understand what he’s asking of you yet. Ben doesn’t understand what he’s asking of himself.”

“He needs to roam,” Marlee mutters, uncaring of the tears sliding down her nose. Everything _hurts_ , her chest tight and her throat closed; she wonders if dissonance was anything like this, like this searing sensation of loss. “He needs to live too.”

“He may not roam,” Lara murmurs, thumbs brushing at the salty wet tracks on Marlee’s cheeks. “But you’re right. And – well – “

“He’s going to be the alpha,” Marlee interrupts. Her heart feels absolutely fractured, as if slammed upon concrete. “And I – “

“You may come back to each other yet,” Lara says softly, her dark eyes warm against pale skin. “But you shouldn’t go through this every time you come home. And he’ll be in the den permanently for at least two more years.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Marlee ducks her head into her pillow. “I can’t tell him,” she whispers. 

“We don’t have to. You’re an independent member of Pack; we don’t have to tell anyone, except Hawke,” Lara says. 

Marlee shuts her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

Lara’s arms envelop her, a cool mouth brushing her temple. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re so wonderful, Marlee,” she says quietly, voice full of love. “I’m so grateful every day to have you for family. You’re – you’re my oldest girl.”

The tears crest against her eyelids; Marlee curls harder into herself and lets Lara pet her hair, her back. She falls asleep with Lara still next to her, and in the morning wakes up with red scratchy eyes and splotchy cheeks. Kristina, almost four, storms into her bedroom and shifts into a pup right in her lap, waggling her tawny tail and licking at Marlee’s face with enthusiasm. It brings a smile to her face, even as Walker scolds. Lara plates up pancakes and Walker sits next to Marlee at the table, his presence even and soothing. 

“I’m sorry,” she says to him as they clean up from breakfast. Lara has left for her office, taking Kristina to the nursery. Walker is due to leave for his own work with the pups soon, but lingers for her. “Dad, I’m so – “

Walker takes her in his arms and kisses her brow, smoothing her bright hair away from her face. “You are my little girl always, Marlee,” he says quietly. “Do not worry.”

Marlee shuts her eyes and holds on for as long as he can linger, the scent of fir trees and comfort in her nose. 

*

The two weeks in the den pass more quickly than Marlee wants them to. She says nothing to Ben of her plans, but has dinner in the mess with him, goes out on runs in the freshly-fallen snow. He does not touch her more than friends would, and she does not press for more; but the ache is there, the sharp impulse to mark and be marked. Desire is one thing; to make claims that cannot be followed through upon is something else entirely. 

“I haven’t been here enough for you, as I should,” Sienna says to Marlee one morning over breakfast. It’s a special appearance for Sienna in the Lauren quarters, but with Hawke gnashing his teeth over Marlee’s new arrangement, Sienna has found it easier to eat with the Laurens in the morning. Less likely to want to set him on fire, she had said breezily. 

Marlee peers at her cousin over her coffee mug, tilting her head. There is something different around Sienna, the glow to her cardinal eyes, the sheen of her ruby-dark hair as it falls down her back. Marlee can’t place it, but it’s there, an easy presence in the air between them. It’s just the two of them this morning, a few days before Marlee is to head back to school. 

“I’m fine,” Marlee says after a moment, sipping her coffee. It’s sharp and too hot on her tongue, but she relishes the sensation. 

Sienna raises her eyebrows, tapping her fingertips against her still-steaming cup of tea. “Marlee, I understand. I do.”

There is a part of Marlee that wants to just sip her coffee and let it lie. But there’s too much regret and anger simmering under her skin to do so. “You’re a cardinal Psy mated to an alpha. It’s not the same,” she retorts. “Uncle Judd is a cardinal mated to a senior technician. Dad is a high-level Tp mated to the healer. Even Toby – Toby is a cardinal! Strength matches strength.”

Blinking, Sienna watches her carefully. Marlee flushes but holds her cousin’s gaze. “It isn’t the same. And it doesn’t – “

“I had to leave the den too,” Sienna interjects coolly. 

Cheeks burning, Marlee doesn’t look away. “That’s because Hawke was an idiot. Not because you weren’t supposed to be together.”

Mouth turning downwards, Sienna wraps her palms around the ceramic mug. The simulated light is bright today, a reflection of the snow covering the ground and soaking up the sharp winter sunshine. 

“It was hard,” Sienna says after a moment, voice distant and flat. “It was so hard. And then, there were no guarantees, no promises – but I suppose it isn’t the same.”

Nausea turns Marlee’s stomach. She reaches out to touch Sienna’s hands as they curl white-knuckled around her mug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle it.” It physically pains her to cause distress to those she loves; she feels it like a punch to the gut. 

Sienna’s hands cover hers, all warmth and love and strength. “It was hard. Sometimes it still is. But – “ Her breath catches, an odd flush suffusing her cheeks. “It was worth it. He’s still an idiot, but for the right reasons.”

A faint twinge of knowledge curls at the back of Marlee’s mind. She blinks, staring at Sienna. 

“Are you – Sienna?“

A Cheshire-cat smile curls the older woman’s mouth. “Smiling, sensitive Marlee-Barley,” she whispers. “Don’t tell.”

Happiness bursts through Marlee’s chest like a rainbow, sparks of it seemingly catching in the air. She smiles widely and purses her lips on a laugh. When Hawke comes to the door to collect Sienna, the protective instinct already well-ingrained in his every movement seems to have tripled. 

“Good lord, you’re going to be smothering during this,” Sienna grumbles as he fixes his arm around her shoulders firmly. 

“Yes,” he says sharply, nipping her ear. His free hand is protective on her abdomen, tan hand curling there. 

Marlee lingers at the doorway and smiles faintly. “I won’t tell,” she says, still overwhelmed by Hawke as a presence. 

Hawke’s mouth softens, and he reaches out to rub his knuckles across her cheek. “Come back to us soon, Marlee,” is all he says. Sienna’s hand touches his, and Marlee knows their fight is over. 

She makes no promises, but she smiles and watches the two of them walk down the corridor together. Theirs is a life she’ll never have; she knows that now. But it’s enough that Sienna has it, Sienna who has lacked of so much for so long. 

The last night of her visit is when they announce Sienna’s pregnancy, and the entire den seems to shift into one large party. All the doors to all the individual quarters open, people milling in and out with joy. Even a few DarkRiver members come down, though Sascha and Lucas leave Naya and their young son Carlo at home. It’s a night pulsing with joy, with anticipation; Marlee lets the waves of it buffet her from quarter to quarter, until she is alone outside the den, breathing in the crisp snow-white air. The skies settle thick and grey, cloud-covered above her. Snowflakes catch in her hair, her eyelashes. Her sweater, thick green cable-knit, isn’t enough to keep the chill from her skin. 

“Great news, right?”

Her pulse jumps at the low tones of Ben’s voice. She glances back to find him walking up to her, eyes glowing with the wolf in the snowy evening air. 

“The best,” she says as he comes to stand next to her. “The very best.”

Every part of her aches to tell him of the future, to tell him how it could be years until she sees him in the flesh again – but that isn’t her place. Here is a future alpha, and she has to respect that. 

Ben takes her hand in his, a shock of warmth against her night-cool skin. “It’s been good to have you here, Marlee. We all miss you,” he says quietly. 

Tears sting behind her eyes. She shakes her head – one, one time she will be irresponsible and less than the perfect child – and leans up to kiss him. Her eyes fall shut and she wraps an arm around his neck. Startled, he doesn’t move for a moment before his hand falls to her waist and he kisses her with such earnest tenderness that it sends shards of grief right through her heart. 

“Marlee, Marlee – “ he whispers against her mouth. Tears slide down her cheeks and she knows he can smell the salt, taste it on her lips. She pulls herself too close and kisses him, ungainly and unpracticed. But there’s heart in it, and when his hand falls into the waves of her hair and holds her close, she wants to scream with the joy of it. 

“This is all I want,” he breathes later, their foreheads pressed together, his mouth close to hers. 

She can’t look at him, afraid of betraying too much. But she tucks her hand into his and presses them palm to palm, a last precious moment before she lets him go for good. “I’ll miss you,” she says, voice thin and reedy. Around them, the snow picks up, falling steadily from the heavy clouds above. 

He smooths his hand over her snow-speckled hair, fingers twined into hers at their sides. “You’ll be back soon,” he says with the confidence of youth, brash and strong. 

Marlee says nothing, just lets him hold her for a moment more. When they go back inside, they walk with distance between them. His face is a mask, a sign of the impressive emotional control he will learn to have as alpha. She cannot be so collected, but her smiles are enough for the group at large, for her father and Lara and Hawke and Judd. If Sascha glances at her twice, she doesn’t say a word. 

The next morning, she drives back to the city. She doesn’t see Ben in person for over three years.

*

The years without Ben pass in a strange blur of studies, births, and loss. 

Lara gives birth to a son in the late spring of Marlee’s freshman year of college, a sprightly dark-haired boy with Lara’s eyes and Walker’s small smile they name Nicholas. Marlee is not there for the birth, as it is her last week of finals; but she watches the four of them, Kristina in Walker’s arms and Nicholas in Lara’s, as they wave to her from the living room in the den, and smiles her hellos. Happiness crests in her even as she feels a horrible homesickness, for them and for the den. 

In part to avoid going back, she decides to take summer classes for her humanities requirements and moves into an apartment off the main campus near the bay, a small studio all her own to decorate. Judd, Brenna, Aiden, and Toby come down to help move her, as Walker won’t leave Lara and the new baby, and Lara refuses to leave Sienna in the last stages of a difficult pregnancy. Well, Aiden runs around with all the energy an eight-year-old should have, as Judd and Toby move help move her furniture in, and Brenna fixes them the first meal in the tiny kitchenette. 

“You can see the bay from here,” Brenna says with a smile, wrapping an arm around Marlee as they linger near the window across from her bed. The apartment is as big as the living room in her quarters at the den, but Marlee already loves it. 

“It’s a safe neighborhood,” Judd interjects, carrying a sleeping Aiden in his arms. “I’ve double-checked.”

“But I’ve also hooked up a special commlink; it will come straight to us, if you need Judd to come for you,” Brenna says. 

“And I’ll be in and out of the city on my rotations, so I can come by if you need,” Toby adds. He’s just as tall as Judd, dark cardinal eyes sharp as they watch Marlee. She wonders if the DarkRiver soldier is still in his heart; he keeps so much of that part of his life close to his chest. 

“Don’t be afraid to pop into the city office whenever. You know any of the lieutenants will help you with anything. You’re still Pack, always Pack,” Brenna says, kissing her cheek.

It’s when Judd and Toby are piling Aiden into the car that Marlee finally voices the question so close and raw to her heart. “How is Ben?” she asks Brenna, voice low as they linger on the front stoop of the apartment. The building is nearly an antique, all exposed red brick that glows in the red-orange evening sunlight. 

Brown eyes shot with blue fix on Marlee, even-keeled. Brenna has always been the mate she fit with best, apart from Lara; Brenna was an only girl in a family of soldiers, too, and had a will of fire-wrought steel. 

“He’s good,” she says after a moment. “His birthday was last month. Sixteen, you know?”

Swallowing hard, Marlee nods. His sixteenth was the first birthday she’d missed since coming into Pack. She’d sent him a card and a scarf she had struggled to crochet herself, with remote guidance from Tarah and Evie. Black and gold, the colors reminded her of him in wolf form. He hadn’t responded to either. 

“He’s starting his novice rotations and solo runs. Hawke’s been a fantastic mentor; it gives him something to focus on apart from Sienna, I think,” Brenna continues, tilting her head.

“Good,” Marlee breathes out, forcing a smile. 

Something in Brenna’s gaze softens, and she gathers Marlee close for a moment. “We love you so much,” she says, kissing Marlee’s cheek. 

“If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be driving too long in the dark,” Judd calls as he comes back up the steps to them. 

Brenna reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “Is the big bad Arrow scared of the dark?” she teases. 

Marlee watches as Judd’s mouth quirks, the smile easy on his lips. “No, but our son is. Would you like to be the one to deal with him?” he queries, pulling her into his side. 

Brenna kisses his cheek and smooths a hand down his chest. “That’s why we brought Toby.”

“Clever wolf,” Judd mutters, looking at Marlee. “You’ll be all right?”

“Of course,” she says, straightening. She has never liked to look weak in front of Uncle Judd, he who risked and sacrificed so much to give her all of this. 

He kisses her cheek and then they’re off, waving to her from the car windows. Marlee trudges back up the three floors to her tiny studio, the only burst of color in the room her patchwork pink and red quilt. It is all hers, and all alone. This is the first time she has ever lived alone. 

Sienna gives birth at the beginning of September, a labor that takes nearly two days. Marlee is there for the birth, her first time back in the den in over half a year. She meets her new little brother, babysits for all the Lauren family children as the adults pace and try to keep Hawke from ripping out the walls of the den. Marlee hums and plays with Aiden, Kristina, and Nicholas, keeps the anguish of waiting far away from the Lauren quarters. 

At last, a wailing red, scrunched-face baby boy with pale blue eyes and a fuzz of red hair comes into the world, and the entire den seems to breathe out in relief. DarkRiver, which had lent extra security to the SnowDancer borders during the distracting time, sends baskets upon baskets of gifts; Hawke can’t seem to stop smiling, which is the oddest visual to keep with her. They name him Tiernan, a name with no haunting memories or ghosts; Marlee kisses Sienna’s damp cheek and retreats back to the city, for the beginning of classes and a resumption of distance forced upon her. 

Time flies past her, as she excels in her studies and works towards her nursing degree. Brenna suffers a miscarriage in the spring of Marlee’s junior year, but recovers quickly. It is Judd who takes it the hardest, retreating into a shell of silence and routine; it takes Walker and Marlee and Brenna to snap him out of it, one hard day in the city headquarters. Sienna’s son thrives, is the apple of hers and Hawke’s eyes. There are flare-ups of violence in the city and along the western borders of the territory; even ten years out from the fall of Silence as a whole, there are still those who would destroy those who live without it. For that reason, Marlee is the only one of the Lauren family to live outside the den for years, as Toby retreats to take his place as a senior soldier. It is the one time she is grateful for her normalcy, the lack of power gifted to her within the family; she gets to live and breathe freely, though Brenna and Riley beef up the security at her apartment. 

During this time, she hears snippets of Ben. He doesn’t call, though an unsigned birthday card arrives yearly. He spends time roaming in Europe after turning eighteen, and then comes home to the den to take his place in the hierarchy. By now, the whispers of his future are more like statements, but there is no competition; Hawke keeps him in the fold and gives him a long leash. She hears nothing of his mating prospects; but Brenna and Sienna, who are her main contacts for this information, would never share something so hurtful. 

Marlee will press her fingers to the scar on her palm and think of him every so often. When she sees an overenthusiastic child in the park, or even when she goes on a date; the smallest and the largest things remind her of him. There are nights when she wakes up with a strange knot of distress in her stomach, her chest, and she wonders if somehow she feels him, if he is in trouble. It makes no sense, and she never asks; but she sends his birthday cards to the den, and wonders if her best friend is still her best friend. 

After college, instead of moving back to the den, she takes a position as a pediatric nurse in a city hospital, at the urging of Lara and Walker. The den is quiet; there is little need for another nurse. When she does return to the den, it is because of Toby; quiet, somber Toby mates with a SnowDancer senior soldier named Lina from near the edges of the territories, from Cooper’s section of the den. The ceremony takes place in the sweltering month of August, which she whines about with Sienna over the commlink just like old times – only Toby would be this difficult. 

But, she takes the time off from work, packs a bag, and drives away from her homey studio apartment for a week at the den. Marlee is twenty-three, and coming home at last. 

*

The car is barely in park and shut off, Marlee just getting out of the car, when she feels the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She shuts the car door and waits, mouth pursed. The heat in the mountains is less intense than in the city, but she still feels the sweat trickle down the nape of her neck, settle uneasily in the groove of her spine. She spent the drive up to the den alternately singing to the mixes Sienna made for her at the top of her lungs, and strategizing for the inevitability of seeing Ben. There is no way to avoid it on this trip. 

She wonders if he’s mated, if he’s found the one yet. Twenty next spring, and with how young his generation is mating, she wouldn’t be surprised. Two of his fellow novices already have in the past year. 

“Hello?” she calls out. The garage is shadowed and dim around her, the air thick with summer heat. 

Nothing. She hums and rubs at the scar sitting in the center of her palm, white and ridged and deep. A nervous habit developed over years, she refuses to break it. 

She turns to walk towards the entrance to the den, and finds Ben there, leaning against the trunk of the car. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she mutters, heart racing in her chest like a jackrabbit. “Ben, what – “

He is next to her in a moment, his hand coolly possessive on her elbow. Her scar throbs with his nearness, the blood of him in her hot and wanting. Does he still carry the shared scar of their youth inside, the promises made then? 

“Marlee – “ he grits out, eyes flashing with the wolf’s golden gaze. 

She stares at him, her heart lodged firmly in his throat. His hair, dark and lustrous in the harsh garage lighting, falls sleekly down the nape of his neck, edging his jaw. Skin bronzed from the near-constant time outdoors, his face is all angles, gaze bright. She can see the tendons in his throat, feel the strength in every inch of his hand pressed against her skin. No longer is he the gawky teenager, but a man – a soldier rising in the ranks of his Pack, an alpha-in-training. 

An angry alpha-in-training, she thinks as she tugs at her elbow. The thin cotton summer dress bares her arms and legs below the knee, perfect for a warm drive; it was a terrible mistake to wear for this situation. 

“Ben,” she breathes out when he doesn’t speak. It’s been over three years, and all she wants to do is bury her face in his neck and never leave him again. Distance and time has done little to mute the intensity of her affection; the only thing she can be grateful for is that they were both able to live without each other, and proved it can be so. It will make his mating easier on her. 

He all but edges her up against the closed trunk door of her vehicle, his hand sliding down her arm to encase her palm. 

“Are you going to talk to me? Or do the brooding changeling thing?” she demands, tossing her hair off of her face. 

A smile curves his mouth. “That’s a fascinating request, considering.”

Ice runs through her veins, chilling her blood straight to her heart. _He knows_. “Ben- “

“Over three years,” he interrupts, voice a growl in his throat. His dark eyes pierce her gaze. “Three years of birthday cards and nothing else. No one would give me your address in the city, and no one would tell me why – My mom and dad practically mute about you – “

Pain clenches her chest, her heart breaking with it. _It’s his_ , she thinks wildly. It has to be his. “I didn’t – “

“Lara finally told me. Today, she pulls me aside and she tells me _why_ \- “

Tears prick at the back of her eyes. Here it is, the rejection she has prepared herself for ten years or more. 

His free hand goes to her jaw, his fingers tantalizingly close to her throat. She fights the impulse to tilt her head, to expose her throat. Every touch of his skin is an electric shock of nerves and desire to her. His thumb curves into her palm, touching the scar he left there. 

“Marlee, I just – if you didn’t want to be with me, why didn’t you just say so?” he asks, voice rough and aching. 

Startled, she meets his gaze with blurred eyes. “What?” 

He stares at her, jaw set tightly. “That’s what this is. You don’t want to be with me – that’s fine. But you were – you are my best friend, and that I missed more than _anything_.”

“I – Ben – that isn’t why!” she blurts out, flushed so red she feels as if a lobster. “That isn’t it at all!”

All but growling at her, he presses her up against the warm metal and slants his mouth over hers. This is no tentative kiss from a gawky boy; he’s had practice, and the thought infuriates her. Her mouth opens for his as her eyes slam shut and she arches into his chest. Free arm wrapping around his neck, she tunnels her fingers into the thick fall of his hair and kisses him back, lets herself breathe in the pine and earth of his scent. His teeth set on her bottom lip and bite lightly; she shudders against his chest. Their fingers twine and squeeze together at their sides. 

His free hand settles at her neck, fingers curving in a light possessive hold. She freezes, her lips parted against his. _Too much_ , she thinks through the haze of his mouth against hers, the harsh sounds of their breathing in the open hot space of the garage. _Too much_. She feels small, disjointed; he is already overwhelming her. 

“Ben, please,” she says at last, voice cracking. 

He takes a step back, removing all skin to skin contact. She aches with the loss of it. There is a struggle looming in his gaze, the wolf fighting for control with the man. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, running a broad hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I –“

“It’s okay,” she says, taking a few steadying breaths. “I’m just – “

“You smell like other men,” he blurts out, gaze wild, almost feral. 

She blinks, eyes wide. “I – I work with people at the hospital. I’m around them sometimes twelve hours a day.”

Face softening, he tilts his head. “You work at a hospital?” he asks, sounding hauntingly young. 

There is so much neither of them know, she thinks. Sighing, she turns to open the trunk for her bag. “Yeah,” she says quietly. 

He is next to her in a moment, taking her suitcase from her without a question. “I’ll walk you,” he says, in a tone brooking no arguments. 

They make the walk through the den in silence, thought his hand catches at hers as they swing side by side. Pack members pass by and smile in greeting, and Marlee is overwhelmed once again by the affection and love within Pack. Living alone and with only a few friends to spend time with outside of work and school, she’s missed the easy quality of the den. 

They pause by the door to the Lauren quarters; Marlee can hear Kristina and Nicholas inside, can sense her father’s patience and anxiety for her return. She turns to Ben, who hands her the suitcase. 

“How long are you staying?” he asks, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. 

“A week,” she says softly. 

“So – “ he huffs out a breath. “Are we going to see each other? Alone?”

“Yes,” she replies immediately, the blood warming in her veins at the thought. 

He ducks his head for a moment. “Are you going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asks, voice haunted. The word _again_ is unspoken and heavy between them. 

Slowly, she shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. 

Seemingly satisfied, Ben glances around for a moment, checking the emptiness of the corridor, before he leans into cup her face in his hands and kiss her. It’s an agonizingly sweet and simple kiss, his mouth easy and warm against hers. She feels the reverberation of it in the marrow of her bones. 

“I’ll find you,” he says against her mouth before he pulls away and walks down the hall, straight-backed and broad-shouldered. 

Marlee swallows hard, the words echoing as loud as her heartbeat in her ears. “Shit,” she mutters, leaning against the door. “Oh my god.”

When she finally gathers herself enough to walk into the Lauren quarters, both Walker and Lara fix curious gazes on her. But Kristina, now rising eight, and Nicholas, just turned four, pounce on her immediately and wrestle her to the floor, and she can’t help but laugh and smile. She feels truly at home for the first time in years, and not even the tumult of emotions Ben raises within her can change that. 

*

“We – we should get back – “ Marlee breathes out through her teeth. 

Ben mumbles something against her skin, but doesn’t make a move to stop his purposeful hands, or to shift her off of him. Far in the distance, she can hear the music, the joyful sounds of Toby and Lina’s mating ceremony, see the flickering of the bonfire. A bonfire in August, but Toby had insisted. Peculiar boy. 

The evening darkness, blue-purple and all shadows, hides them as she and Ben curl against the wide trunk of a flowered pine tree, the smell of it overwhelming her senses. He has her gathered in his lap, her skirt pushed up to mid-thigh, her knees sinking into the arid dirt beneath them. She knows she has pine needles in her hair and dirt on her cheek, but Ben has his mouth at her jaw, so close to the thin skin of her throat, that she can’t bear to move. 

She had wandered this way for fresh air, and to escape questioning eyes, especially those of her family. Sharing one dance with Ben had raised visible hackles throughout the knowing crowd; even Sascha and Lucas, visiting from DarkRiver, had seemed curious. So, as Toby and Lina shared their first dance together, Marlee had let Lara know she was going for a walk, alone. 

That Ben had followed her, she had no control over. He was stubborn, this wolf. 

The days leading up to the ceremony had been strained, awkward. The urge to touch whenever Ben entered a room was almost too strong to resist, while he couldn’t stop his hand brushing hers whenever they were close enough. Ava, his mother, had raised eyebrows but said nothing; indeed, no one was saying anything, apart from a whispered comment here and there from the younger set. 

“God, you’re just – you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs with teeth at her jawline. His hands curve at her thighs, rough callused skin over hers. She shivers with the contrast, the breath leaving her lungs faster and faster. 

“Ben – don’t mark me,” she whispers, voice thick and so unlike her. She feels slow and hazy, her hands restless over the broad expanse of his shoulders, his chest. She will not take off his shirt; even this is a step too far, but she can’t stop, feels too unraveled and content in his arms. Later, she will pay for this. Now, she wants to enjoy. 

He tips his head back against the tree, eyes gone wolf-amber. “But I want to,” he says raggedly, drawing a finger down the line of her throat. The tip of his finger follows the bared line of her collarbones, her breastbone, to the hem of her neckline. The dress, breezy black cotton shot with gold thread, is loose at her waist and flowing to her knees, but cinches just at her ribcage. She is still mostly angles, a girl of jutting lines rather than lush curves, but she is not a waif any longer. 

She reaches up and takes his hand from her neck, shivering. “That would send the wrong message,” she says firmly. When she shifts in his lap, she can feel the press of his erection through his jeans and against her thigh. 

Hissing, he raises his free hand to the fall of light auburn waves down her shoulders, twisting in the curls there. “If the message is that you’re mine and I’m yours, it’s the right message,” he all but growls. 

Pausing mid-shift, she leans her hands on his chest. Fear clenches at her heart, tightening her ribcage. “That isn’t – Ben, that’s not how this works,” she says mutinously. 

The fixed stare of an alpha-in-training meets hers. “I feel it. Don’t you?”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She shuts her eyes and gives in, burying her face in the warm skin of his throat and curling her hands into his shirt collar. The hum of contentment in his chest, she feels it more than hears it as his arms encircle her. There is the glancing press of his mouth over her hair, and she’s lost at sea. The forest sings with summer tidings, the sounds of the party echoing through the tall leafy branches. 

“It’ll never work,” she says at last, her breathing normal, even as her heart beats faster than his.

“I thought you were the smart one,” he murmurs. 

She tips her head back to look at him. “I’m not strong enough for you, Ben. I can’t carry the weight you’ll need from me,” she says bluntly. “That’s a fact. It’s why – “

He cups her cheek in his hand as she gathers her breath, her words. The care and affection in his eyes is overwhelming. 

“When you did the blood bond, people freaked out,” she says at last. “They thought it meant – well – “

“That you’re my mate,” he rumbles. 

Cheeks flushed too warm, she nods. “I think so. And so – oh Ben, I _know_ how Pack works. I know what an alpha needs, and I – I can’t be that for you. Sascha, and Sienna – they’re cardinal Psys, they have abilities and strengths all their own, and it just won’t _work_ like that for me –“

Ben kisses her then, stops the words on her lips. But they live in the air between them, spoken out loud at last. Marlee shuts her eyes and opens her mouth to his, his tongue against hers. She curls even closer despite the heat, the sweat down her neck, the sticky press of skin. He said it when he was fifteen, and she knows the truth of it now: this is all she wants, right here. His hand moves over the line of her ribcage, the rise of her breast. 

“I can’t,” she breathes against his mouth, knows the certainty of it. 

He meets her gaze, heavy-lidded, more wolf than man. His hand settles at the sharp line of her waist. “Okay,” he says, voice husky. “Then I want what you can give.”

“It won’t be enough,” she protests. 

“We’ll deal with it later. But this – the years without you? It’s been hell,” he says flatly. “And I won’t do it again.”

“How does this end well?” she demands. 

Shrugging, he smooths the hair away from her throat. His gaze fixes on the pulse there. “Marlee, I – “

“You can’t,” she says, suddenly frightened. “Not there.”

He meets her gaze, looks back at the vulnerable line of her neck, and then sets his jaw. “Okay,” he murmurs, shifting her onto her feet.

As she rises, she brushes the dirt from her knees and the hem of her skirt, her hair falling as a curtain over her cheek. He rises, brushing off the seat of his pants, smoothing his hair down. 

“You’ll smell of me,” he says, too quiet. Giving her a moment to reject it, reject him. 

“I already do,” she says softly. Both Kristina and Nicholas noticed already. 

Ben watches her carefully before he reaches out to pull her back to him. “C’mere,” he says, voice low and gravelly. 

Shivering, she goes into the shelter of his chest. He brushes the hair from the nape of his neck, his mouth near her jaw. She stretches her face towards his, searching for his kiss. 

“Marlee – “

In a heartbeat, she understands. His hands flat on the open top half of the back of her dress, all bare freckled skin; his mouth arching towards the melting point of neck and shoulder. She pauses, thinks for a brief moment; then, she turns in his arms and sweeps her hair to one side, over her shoulder, a heavy rush of vanilla-scented curls. Once, when they were young, he had said he liked the smell of her shampoo; she’s never changed it. 

“Okay,” she says, tilting her gaze back to his. 

The smile that curves his mouth is feral and lovely. His hands fall to her belly, warm through her thin dress. “Oh, Marlee,” he murmurs before lowering his mouth and kissing the nape of her neck. At the curve where her shoulder meets her neck, she feels teeth, and shuts her eyes. The bite is brief but hard, a quick suck of a mark; she knows she will bruise easily. But his tongue flickers over the mark with a warm lick that sends her knees melting. 

“Jesus,” she breathes out. 

He turns her back to his chest and kisses her, his mouth hungry over hers. She thinks she’ll never have enough of him, even when it’s entirely over and she watches him with someone else. 

Later, in the privacy of her room, she moves her hair to look at the mark left by his mouth. A feeling of wanting, of possession overwhelms her, trembles through her fingertips. She wishes, in the dark of her room, that she could have marked him in return. 

(The day before she leaves for the city once more, she does. A bite at his bare pectoral, his shirt cast aside in the backseat of her car. The car timepiece flashes two am, and she knows Walker will wonder, but she has Ben shirtless and begging under her touch, and when she sinks her teeth into his skin, it’s a wonder his moan doesn’t wake the entire den.)

*

Hawke sets Ben onto a city rotation schedule in the fall. Whether that is due to the random decision of an alpha, or whether Marlee had anything to do with it in a roundabout way, she doesn’t know. She never would have asked for that kind of special treatment, wouldn’t have dreamed of it. But Sienna is aware of the changing situation, and who knows what happens between an alpha and his mate. 

Ben calls her with the news, grinning from ear to ear. Marlee has just made it home from a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, nerves on edge. There has been another outcropping of violence between Psys and humans and changelings, with the humans taking the brunt of the damage. Tonight her main patient had been a ten-year-old burn victim, trapped in a house set on fire by a rogue Psy using Tk abilities. It settles too close to home; she answers the video call, but does it reluctantly. 

“Hi,” he says, his grin fading into a frown. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, curled up in the loveseat beneath her window overlooking the bay. Her studio had changed very little in the past four years, the pink patchwork quilt still spread across her bed. She likes the way it had ended up; home away from home. “Long day.”

“You okay?” he asks, voice tinny. 

She waves at the screen, propping her cheek in her hand as she leans an elbow on the armrest. “Talk to me,” she murmurs. It’s a nice tradition they’ve started, where one of them will call, and talk them into relaxation or even sleep. She’s fallen asleep on a vidcall with Ben at least three times in the last month. 

“My first night in the city is next week.”

Blinking, she meets his gaze in the screen. “Oh?”

“I planned my day off around the start of the schedule. How’s your Wednesday?”

She bites her bottom lip, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Well, I work a day shift.”

“Great,” he says, leaning in. “Dinner?”

Wetting her lips, she nods. “Okay. Pick me up at the hospital?”

His eyes narrow, gaze darkening. “I want to see your place, though.”

“That’s a little forward, don’t you think?” she teases. 

“We’re a little past forward,” he retorts. Even through the video screen, his gaze heats her right through, sends pulses of warmth through her veins. 

She laughs and elicits a promise to meet at the hospital that afternoon. Ben still doesn’t know her address in the city; boundaries are important between them here, with so much uncertainty in their future. 

When Wednesday comes, she’s just clocking out of a twenty-four hour on-call shift, exhausted to the bone. The pediatrician on duty sends her home an hour early; she goes without thinking, nearly falling asleep behind the wheel of her car. More attacks, more injuries; she had to be pressed into duty in the trauma wing. It left her with cold reminders of Henry Scott’s attack on SnowDancer over ten years ago, the memories seeping in. She remembers the darkness, being the last to wake, the weak link; the thoughts follow her straight into bed, where she falls asleep as soon as she lays down. 

When she wakes, darkness has settled over the city, a starry moonless night clear in the window above her bed. She shifts into the warm body behind her, sighing. A heavy warm arm sits snug around her waist, a nose pressed to the curve of her neck. 

Then, her mind fits the pieces together. 

She sits up with a shriek and a jolt, reaching out with her panicky Tk to flick on a light. Warm hands cover hers as the pale yellow light reveals a disheveled and suited Ben next to her, eyes heavy with sleep. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” she croaks out, heart firmly lodged in her throat. “Ben – “

“When I got to the hospital, they said they’d sent you home,” he says, running a hand through his sleek dark hair. 

Blinking, she looks down at herself. “Jesus – I’m still in my scrubs,” she mutters, rubbing at her eyes. She looks at him again, takes in the pressed button-down shirt, the rumpled trousers. “Oh god, _dinner_.”

“It’s okay,” he says immediately, but she’s already on her feet, swaying with exhaustion. She can see the overnight bag in the kitchenette, the fresh bouquet of sunflowers on the table. 

“I can be ready in – “ she looks at the digital timepiece as she hurries to her closet. “God, it’s ten o’clock. Okay – “

Abruptly Ben is behind her, taking her wrists in hand and pulling her into his chest. The exhaustion just settles into her limbs and she lets him take her weight, trying not to think of the blood on her scrubs, the smell of acrid flesh in her hair. 

“Can we do dinner another time?” she asks, voice soft and too small. She feels six again, lost in a new Pack. 

“Yes,” he says quietly, kissing the top of her head. “Why don’t I order in?”

Relieved, she looks up at him with a smile. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll shower,” she murmurs, pulling away from him. 

Ten minutes later, she emerges from her tiny bathroom in an overlarge t-shirt of his that he snuck in her suitcase her last visit home to find him equally undressed in a t-shirt and boxers, stretched out on top of her quilt, a book in his hands. He looks oddly at home and comfortable, as if the apartment has been waiting for him this whole time. Hair damp and curling around her shoulders, she shuffles over to the bed and sits, watching him. 

Ben looks at her over the book and grins. “That’s my shirt,” he says, putting the book down and reaching for her. 

She lets him pull her over him, lets his mouth sooth hers as she hitches a leg over his waist. The last few weeks have been too rough, too harsh; a cold snap has settled over the city, too sharp for early October. And she’s missed him, though they’ve talked many times in the week. Having him here is an anchor. She only wishes she could do the same for him. 

“How did you find me?” she murmurs against his mouth after a moment. 

His hand pushes through her damp hair, a smile forming on his lips. She looks at him, finding him supremely content. A broad warm hand rests on the small of her back. “I sniffed you out.”

“You did _not_ ,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head. 

“Well – kind of. A coworker of yours knew the street. I did it on my own from there.”

“But how did you get in?” she asks, bewildered. 

Now his mouth turns down, gaze sobering on hers. “You left the door unlocked.”

She curls her hand over his heart, his t-shirt hot to the touch. “I was so tired,” she murmurs. 

Cupping a hand at the nape of her neck, he leans up to kiss her lightly. “Want to talk about it?” he asks with a comforting nip to her bottom lip. 

Her fingers flinch against his chest. “Not yet,” she says. 

Ben doesn’t push. Instead, he holds her to him and tells her about the den, of how Toby and his new mate are settling in, of Brenna’s new pregnancy. Tiernan, Sienna and Hawke’s son, is apparently the new terror of the nursery, to no one’s surprise. When the door chimes with the food, she tells him where her wallet is, and he meets the delivery man at the door. He’s ordered Chinese; lo mein and beef and broccoli and scallion pancakes. They eat right from the containers and share dishes, a napkin spread out over the quilt. 

“You still have this,” he says, rubbing his heel against the quilt as they sit up against the headboard with their cartons. 

She steals a piece of beef and chews thoughtfully. “Of course I do. It’s my most treasured possession.”

He smiles faintly, ducking his head. “My mom helped with some of it.”

Of course, Marlee thinks. As a maternal dominant, that would be right in Ava’s instincts. 

Wrinkling his nose, he peers at the quilt and shifts the food to the side. She watches him, fascinated. 

“Oh, there,” he says, pointing at a red scrap of fabric near the far edge. “That’s a piece from an old jersey of mine.”

Her grip tightens around the fork in her hand. “You contributed to this?” she asks softly. 

His gaze pierces her, dark and steady. “It was for you.”

Cheeks burning, she leans into kiss him, tasting of sesame and soy sauce. There is such a generous heart in him, one she could never match; the Net ensured that. 

“Still hungry?” he asks, voice low. 

She shakes her head. He kisses her once more before beginning to clear the bed of the remaining food. As he puts it in the fridge, she tiptoes to the tiny kitchen table and leans into breathe in the sunflowers. “I didn’t even know I had a vase,” she says softly. 

“I brought it,” he says, shutting the fridge door. There is so much of him for this tiny space, all tanned muscle and long limbs. She watches him without pretense, her skin flushing. 

“You okay?” he asks after a long quiet moment, coming to stand in front of her. 

Silent, she takes his hand and leads him back to the bed, those few steps away. Throw pillows of all colors and sizes, courtesy of Sienna, are pushed out of the way, and she curls up with him under the quilt from their home, their Pack. His hands fit at her waist as she shifts against his chest, a thigh slung over his hip. 

“Lately, everything reminds me of before,” she says after a long moment. “There are children with burns, and I think of Sienna. Changelings come in battered and bruised, because their healers are too far away, or they’re only visiting the city, and I just – everything is happening again, it feels like.”

Ben’s hands soothe over the line of her back and thigh, the petting motion familiar to the wolves. She presses her cheek to his shoulder and inhales deeply. “The worst is the humans and changelings who come in with their minds damaged. And I just – I was a part of that,” she whispers. “I was a part of that.”

A strange choked sort of laugh escapes her then. “I used to be so mad to not have any sort of abilities worth using, just a little bit of Tk. Because I knew I wasn’t strong enough to be a Lauren. But now, I just wish I was strong enough to fix people, like Judd. I can’t even do the job I was hired for.”

“Marlee, stop,” he murmurs, a hard edge underlying his voice. There is strain in every muscle; he is holding back, she can feel it. “You’re doing everything you can. You’re just as much as a Lauren as the rest of them. And you’re Pack. You’re special.”

She sighs, sitting up and pushing damp curls from her face. The quilt settles around them, a pool of pinks and reds. “Today is a day where it doesn’t feel like it,” she murmurs, touching his clothed abdomen. “Like – when Sienna used the cold fire on Henry Scott, and we all passed out? I was the last one to wake up. I’m the weak link.”

Every tendon is on edge under her gaze. He knows exactly where she is going next. 

“You told me that once,” she says softly. 

“I was six,” he all but snarls, the wolf scrabbling under the skin, just under his eyes. 

A sad little smile touches her mouth. “It was the instinct of a future alpha. You’re right to think so.”

He sits up and takes her hands in his, gaze fierce and jaw tight. “I don’t – damnit Marlee, I’m here. I’m _here_. I want you and I love you, and I’m here.”

Everything inside her stills at his words. She can’t even think to breathe, think to take her eyes from his. The scar in her palm throbs. 

“Shit,” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to fucking do it like this. I just – “

“You’re courting me,” she breathes. Dinner, the flowers, the vase. “Oh – oh _Ben_ – “

He leans in and kisses her, pulls her into the cradle of his lap and fists a hand in her hair. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him with all she has, all the love she’s had for him since the age of six, all the love she may never be able to express. His mouth is hot and unyielding; she can feel the wolf just under the skin, the instinct to take and take. 

She only knows how to give. 

When he turns her into the mattress, her back flat against the bed, she slides her hands over his back and into the waist of his boxers. A growl rumbles against her mouth but she pays him no mind, kissing with teeth and tongue as the breath just rushes from her. Her hand curls around the hot skin of his erection and he jumps as if shocked, his mouth breaking from hers. 

“Jesus – Marlee, a little warning – “ he huffs out, eyes amber with the wolf as he stares down at her. 

“You never give me any warning,” she counters. Now that she’s here, she’s nervous. She’s never done this with anyone before, has read countless magazines – but her experiences of pleasure have been for herself alone, never with anyone else. Never with Ben. 

Hesitantly, she strokes him. He rocks into it, his eyes fluttering shut with it. The tendons stand out on his throat, his hips rocking into hers. 

“You have to tell me what you want,” she says, voice low. 

“Jesus Marlee – it’s always the quiet ones – “ he gasps out. “Tighter.”

Smiling slightly, she learns him. She learns the rhythm he likes, how the scrape of her fingertips makes him moan, how to add biting kisses at his shoulders and chest, to lick at the flattened rise of his nipple. She learns as much as she can before he comes with a low groan into her throat, her hand and shirt sticky with him. The smell of sex is heady in the room, and she feels the heat of it between her thighs.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” he swears again, voice a low growl. He peels the t-shirt off of his back and wipes at her hands and belly. 

“I’ll have to wash the quilt,” she teases, flushed and aching. 

He rises and tosses the t-shirt and his boxers away, naked and stalking back to bed. She shifts up against the pillows as he folds the quilt and sets it gently aside before crawling into bed, covering her with long lean limbs. “God, you’re lovely,” he mutters, skin flushed as his hands slide to the hem of her shirt. 

“Don’t tease,” she says, lifting her arms. 

Pulling the shirt off of her, he leans in and inhales sharply at her throat. “You just – you smell so good,” he blurts out, his chest pressing against hers. She feels the scrape of his chest hair against her breasts and she sighs at the friction, spreading her thighs for him on instinct. 

“Ben, _please_.”

He grins a little, his teeth white against his skin. “You led me on the runaround for years, Marlee. I think I get to take a little time.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin, even as she glares at him. “Not all the way,” she says after a moment, her fingers sliding through his hair, thick and silky under her touch. 

For a horrible split second, he is very still, his hands light on her skin. “Marlee, I – “

“Please,” she says softly. “Just – not all the way.”

His gaze softens and he leans down to kiss her, gentle and easy. “Okay.”

This is a gift to her, she realizes. He is a dominant predatory changeling male, a future alpha; patience is not a virtue they have in spades. But he gives her this gift because she is Pack and she is Marlee, the weak link in a strength-begetting-strength world. For that, she loves him all the more. 

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers even as he mouths down the line of her neck, his hand spread over her lower belly. 

“Marlee, I’ll stop,” he says against her skin. His palm is like a brand against her skin. 

“No – I just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” she breathes. 

He raises his head to meet her heavy-lidded gaze. “You have the strangest idea of what this is,” he says with a sharp grin. 

She is about to reply, but his palm cups between her thighs and all rational thought flies out the window. He leans down to kiss her, tongue insistent with hers as he strokes her curls, matches the slide of his fingers at her clit to the rocking of her hips. His touch is clumsy but sure, and she spreads her thighs for him, wanting more. 

“God, you feel good,” he murmurs, sliding one finger into her. She sighs with it, digging her hands into his back and pulling him close. “Fucking Christ, _Marlee_ -“

Turning her head, she finds his mouth with hers and kisses him as he rocks the heel of his palm against her clit. Her skin is alive with nerves and breath and pleasure, a shock to her senses. She moans into his mouth as he slowly adds another finger, curling them inside her. Shuddering, she feels the press and cupping of his hand at her breast, his teeth sinking into her lip and down. As his mouth covers the delicate skin of the pulse in her throat, she feels herself arching towards more. He bites with gentleness even as a growl rumbles out of his chest, and she’s coming, all light and heat and shivers of pleasure. 

Later, the quilt tucked around them once more, he curls around her, her back to his chest. The room is heavy with darkness, the smell of sex and pine and vanilla lingering between them. Her fingers touch the sensitive mark on her neck, even as his hands flatten on her belly. 

“I meant it,” he says into the chilly darkness. 

“Meant what?” she murmurs, her hand resting at her throat still. 

“I love you.”

The tension grips her immediately, the feel of tearing asunder, of loss. “Oh – “ she exhales. 

“You don’t have to say it back. Not yet. But you will, Marlee,” he says, holding her close. “I know you will.”

Ben is a man of faith and surety, of simple facts. He believes what he believes, and she loves him for it. But she knows how this will end up, knows the truth of his future. She will never let him sacrifice his destiny for her. 

He falls asleep behind her, but she cannot, not for a very long time. Even then, she dreams of cold darkness, of abandonment and the Net; she dreams of the truth.

*

The days fall into a strange pattern, a routine Marlee eases into. Ben spends two days a week in the city, and his day off; though there is always a bed available at headquarters, he will spend his nights with Marlee. If she’s working, he meets her at the hospital; after night shifts, she comes home to find him asleep in her bed, dark hair falling over his brow, a hand stretched out over the empty space where she should lay next to him. 

Her neighborhood becomes an adventure; he searches out new places for breakfast, for coffee. They spend one afternoon in an ancient bookstore she’s never noticed before just two blocks away from her apartment, filled to the brim with all paper books. Marlee almost wants to call Dalton, to show him this treasure of a place; but then Ben tugs her braid and pulls her into the travel section, and she forgets about everything but him. 

The time spent is a joy and a curious suspicion to her. She doesn’t entirely know what Ben wants of her, and she can’t bring herself to press. Though she enjoyed college, enjoyed this sense of independence gifted upon her, she knows she’s happier to be able to share it with Ben here and now. 

One cold bright day in November, they sit huddled together in the coffee shop a few streets down from her studio. It’s a rare shared day off for the both of them, and while the morning was spent in her apartment away from prying eyes, she forced him outside with a laugh and a tease. Marlee cups her hot chocolate cup in her palms, eyes straying to the dozing old man at the table across the café, the dark-haired couple bent over different textbooks at the booth next to them. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Ben asks from next to her. They like the corner table, situated against the bench along the wide street-facing windows. She gets to people-watch, and he gets to all but sit her in his lap when he feels like it. Priorities, he’d told her the first time. 

She tips her face back, a light smile on her lips. Happy, she thinks; she’s happy. “Talk about what?”

He slings an arm around her waist, anchoring her to him. “I missed almost four years of your life,” he says quietly, his gaze fixed on the studious couple nearby. 

Wetting her lips, Marlee sips her cocoa. “It was only college,” she says after a moment, struggling to keep the moment light. “I studied every free moment.”

“No boyfriends?” he asks, voice steady. 

Her stomach falls, nausea settling through her. “I – I went on dates,” she says at last, shifting against him. His hand flexes and tightens against her waist. “But I’m sure you did too.”

“I did,” he agrees, teeth gritted. “I was always thinking of you, though.”

She can’t help but smile, tucking herself into the hard line of his shoulder. “When did you become such a smooth talker?” she teases. “I remember the boy who couldn’t even say Sienna’s name.”

His mouth comes down to her brow, brushing lightly. “You’re the only person I talk to like this.”

Sighing, she rests the warm lip of her cup against her chin, eyes flickering to the doorway. “Ditto,” she says quietly. 

Hand squeezing at her waist, he kisses her temple. The skin to skin contact is a pleasure rush against her senses. She thinks she could get drunk off of it, the way he makes her feel. Eventually reality will set in, and they will part; for now, she will just enjoy. “God, Marlee, I just – “

“Sienna?” Marlee blurts out, sitting up from his embrace. 

For a woman with a toddler in a stroller just backs her way into the coffee shop, hair pushed under a knit cap. But ruby-dark tendrils slip out around her pale skin, shining against the white of her scarf. And the little boy, red curls and blue eyes, fixes on Marlee immediately and claps, squirming in his stroller seat. 

Sienna’s eyes, the cardinal-dark hidden by blue contact lenses, meet Marlee’s. A small smile curls the older woman’s mouth. 

“Oh man,” Marlee mumbles. 

Ben is very still, almost nervous under her. Sienna pushes the stroller towards their table and he leaps to his feet, moving aside the chair so Sienna can sit with the stroller next to her. 

“Ah, thanks, Ben,” Sienna says, nodding at the novice soldier. 

“What are you doing here?” Marlee asks, avoiding Ben’s gaze. Sure, Sienna _guesses_ something is going on, but seeing it in person is something else entirely. 

Sienna tucks her hair under her cap, the thick braid loosening under her fingers. “Oh, Hawke has a meeting in the city. I thought I would come along and say hello, bring Tiernan,” she says, gaze flickering between Marlee and a still-standing Ben. “Ben – you can sit, you know.”

“I know,” he says quickly, the tops of his cheeks reddening. “Would you like something?”

“They have good hot chocolate,” Marlee offers, still a little put-out.

Brightening, Sienna grins a little. “A hot chocolate would be great. And a chocolate croissant!” she exclaims. 

Ben takes off for the counter before either of them can say another word. Marlee sits back against the bench and smiles brightly for Tiernan as he claps his hands together and reaches out for his mother. “I can’t believe Hawke let you out of his sight.”

“He’s become much better,” Sienna says thoughtfully, unbuckling Tiernan and settling him into her lap. “He only has two bodyguards following me this time.”

Freezing, Marlee peeks out the windows. Sienna laughs and smooths down her son’s wild curls. “It’s Tai and Maria. They won’t say anything,” she says, eyes warming on Marlee. 

Skin heating up, Marlee looks down into her cooling cup of cocoa. “I – I didn’t know there was a meeting. Ben didn’t tell me.”

“It’s his day off. It’s no one’s business where he is,” Sienna murmurs, reaching out to touch Marlee’s hand, a shock of warmth against Marlee’s cool knuckles. “Are you all right?”

Marlee nods and looks up, pasting on that familiar smile from years past. “It’s good to see you,” she says. 

Sighing, Sienna sits back in her chair. Tiernan cuddles up against her chest, his toddler-sticky fingers reaching for the loose pieces of her hair as they escape from her hat. “Oh, Marlee. Sometimes I am just so jealous of this,” she says with a sad little smile. 

A strange cherry pit of nausea settles in Marlee’s stomach. “Of me?”

“Of your freedom. You’re the only Lauren who could do this, even now,” Sienna says. “Even Toby had a hard time of it.”

“I didn’t want to be different,” Marlee says, voice stilted. Her gaze catches Ben’s across the café as he waits for Sienna’s drink. He grins a little, raises his arms as if saying _I don’t even know what the hell is going on._

Sienna makes a little sound in the back of her throat, as her son plays with the ends of the pale cream scarf tied around her neck. “Different for us is lucky,” she says with a soft smile. “You’ve done so much with your life already, Marlee-Barley.”

Marlee wants to say that she doesn’t feel like that, that she feels small and sad next to the rest of her impressive family. But Ben comes back with a plated croissant and a steaming mug of cocoa just then, and Sienna sighs wistfully. “I love chocolate,” she murmurs, adjusting her arm across Tiernan’s waist so he doesn’t slip from her lap as she reaches for her mug.

“I know,” both Ben and Marlee say in unison as he sits back down next to her. Though clearly still nervous, he takes Marlee’s hand in his and sits close to her, shoulder to hip to thigh. 

Sienna glances between the two of them, a cryptic smile on her lips. “This is cute,” she says, sipping her cocoa. “I wish Hawke and I had been able to do this.”

“Be spied on by relatives as you tried to date?” Marlee asks dryly. She feels a sharp spike of pleasure as Ben squeezes her hand; she has never labeled this for him, she realizes. Now it feels permanent, sitting here with her cousin, the alpha’s mate; now she is terrified. 

Wrinkling her nose, Sienna wipes her mouth. “Date at all, really,” she says evenly. 

Guilt pierces Marlee’s middle, makes her nauseous to the touch. She drops Ben’s hand, curling hers together in her lap under the table. “I’m sorry.”

“It all worked out eventually,” Sienna says around a mouthful of croissant. She breaks off a small piece and holds it out for Tiernan, who watches it with interest before taking it and putting it in his mouth. 

Ben clears his throat; he seems painfully aware of speaking to his alpha’s mate, whereas all Marlee sees is a too-nosy cousin. “We haven’t told anyone,” he says, voice flat. The question for Marlee is hidden there – when will they?

Sienna thumbs a bit of chocolate from Tiernan’s mouth. “I’m not going to,” she says, eyes flickering between them. “As long as you do when it’s time.”

It’s the last they speak of it. For an hour Sienna and Tiernan sit with them, chatting about the den and the city. For the life of her, Marlee can’t remember a more normal afternoon spent with her edged-with-power cousin. Ben is oddly quiet but Marlee and Sienna talk enough for him. Sienna has two hot chocolates and takes three croissants to go when she finally does leave them be. She departs with a hug for Ben and a kiss to Marlee’s cheek, something knowing in her gaze when she looks at Marlee. 

Later, Ben shakes his head as Marlee settles next to him on the loveseat. “Time’s running out.”

“She said she wouldn’t tell,” Marlee says stubbornly. 

His arm settles across her shoulders and she reaches up out of newly-born habit to lace her fingers with his. “It’s only a matter of time, Marlee. People are going to ask.”

Marlee thinks of the spare key hidden in his overnight bag; too scared to give it to him herself, she hid it in his bag for him to find later. Heart beating too fast, she lays her cheek against his shoulders and sighs. “Okay,” she murmurs. 

He kisses her cheek and sits back. The tension thrums through the nerves right against his skin, she can feel it as bright as day. But he doesn’t push; instead they watch a movie and he makes her come with his tongue right there on the loveseat. Every touch of his mouth and hand feels as hot and heavy as a brand. 

*

On a cool rainy Wednesday in early December, Marlee parks in front of her apartment after a night shift at the hospital to find Hawke and Walker waiting outside on her front stoop. Dressed in suits and long rain coats, they look impeccable, and highly concerned. She steps out, using old scrubs as an umbrella, and hurries to the stoop. 

“Um, hi,” she says, meeting Hawke’s eyes for a moment before she hugs her dad. 

“Can we come in?” Walker asks, passing a hand over her hair. 

She races back over the contents of her apartment, over whether there is anything particularly suspicious lingering there. Ben is on patrol today in the city, but will return this evening; he goes back to the den Friday morning. She’s positive those who need to know are aware of their relationship back at the den, but with Hawke and Walker staring her down, she’s certain they are not on the list. 

“Sure,” she says, because what other choice does she have. She keys in the code to the front door and leads them upstairs to her small studio, grey and lifeless in the rainy morning. 

She locks the door behind her as the two men survey her apartment. Ben cleaned before taking off for his morning shift; she breathes a sigh of relief. 

“What do I owe the pleasure?” she asks after a taut stretch of silence. All she wants is to shower and go to sleep, to wait for Ben to come back and wake her with a kiss or something more. 

Walker glances at her as she strips off her raincoat and boots. She struggles not to flush under the scrutiny. “Are you seeing Ben?”

Pausing, she glances between her alpha and her father. _Shit_. She is going to kill Sienna for this. At first, she wants to say it’s none of their business; but that’s never been the truth. 

“Yes,” she says at last. “But not seriously.”

At that, Walker turns his eerie green gaze onto Hawke. “You said – “

“That dumbass,” Hawke mutters, taking a seat at the tiny kitchen table. The two of them together overwhelm the space, leaving her intimidated and claustrophobic. Hawke kicks his legs out in front of him and pins her with his icy-blue eyes. “You’re in the mating dance.”

Mouth dropping open, she stares at them both. “ _What_?” she breathes. “But – we – “

“Sweetheart, please,” Walker murmurs. 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she plants her hands on her hips. She loves her father, but sometimes she thinks he doesn’t understand that she’s grown up. “I don’t understand how this could happen. I’ve been – we’ve been – “

“It happens in different ways for each pair,” Hawke says, face stern. He looks just as wary of the direction of this conversation as Walker does. “And I don’t know how long it’s been going on, because we’ve just been able to sense it in him in the last few days.”

“And Sienna said that he had been spending time with you on his rotations here,” Walker interjects. 

Marlee’s hands curl into fists. “Is this an intervention?” she asks, voice the coldest she’s ever made it. 

Hawke blinks, tilting his head. “You tell me.”

Bile rises at the back of her throat. “I won’t accept it. Don’t worry.”

“Why would we worry about that?” Hawke asks, eyes flickering to Walker and back to her. 

Her nerves are frayed from a night of flu-ridden children and colicky babies; she shakes her head and suppresses a scream, her fingertips tingling. “I’m not Sascha and I’m not Sienna, and I can’t mate with an alpha. I _know_. I’m the weak link, I _get_ it,” she grits out through her throat. She’s so furious with Ben, with Sienna, with the circumstances of her life that she can barely see straight.

Hawke stares with something like shock at her. “I’ve never heard you say that much in total in my life,” he mutters. 

“Why are you under the impression that you are weak, Marlee?” Walker says, shooting a cool glance at Hawke. 

“Look at all of you!” she exclaims, exhaustion tearing at her. “Toby, Sienna – I’m the weak link, Dad. It’s hard not to realize it.”

Walker stares at her as if he doesn’t know her. Shame burns hot at her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “I won’t do that to Ben, I _won’t_.”

“This presents its own set of problems,” Walker says quietly after a moment, voice strained. 

“He can’t be the alpha he has to be if I’m his mate,” she says stubbornly, ignoring the press of tears behind her eyes. “I’ll talk to him.”

Hawke snorts. “Bet that’ll go fucking great.”

Walker shoots a look at Hawke, who rolls his eyes. “She’s twenty-three and she went to college, I think she’s an adult already, Walker.”

“I am, and I’ll handle my own business,” she says shortly. 

“When it affects the future leader of the Pack, it’s everyone’s business,” Hawke says, abruptly serious. The change of his tone makes her shiver. It reminds her of Ben when he takes a call from Riley, or any of the other senior soldiers. 

She falters, biting her lip. “Has it – has it been affecting him?” 

“Not negatively. Not yet,” Walker says. 

“But if you reject him, who knows,” Hawke says darkly. There are veins of a haunting in his voice, as if he knows of what he speaks. “This kind of loss is hard to come back from.”

Her heart constricts as she looks down at her socked feet. Her scrubs are pink today, speckled with blood. Everything she has worked so hard to circumvent, to spare them all from – it all happens anyway. “I can’t be more than I am,” she says at last.

“You’ve always been more than you give yourself credit for,” Walker says, regret coloring his tone. “I feel as if I am responsible – “

“No, Dad. I am what I am,” she says, lifting her chin. “I just don’t think it’s going to be enough.”

Hawke makes a small thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. “I think mates tend to find the ones that they need intrinsically,” he says after a silent, tense moment between the three of them. “I could be full of shit. But Ben grew up in a stable den, with no major tragedies, unlike me and Hunter. It makes a difference.”

“Because he has stability already, his choice of mate becomes more flexible,” Walker says, glancing at Hawke. 

The wolf alpha shrugs. “Sienna thought of it. I don’t know, it might not fucking matter.”

“I think giving me hope when there isn’t any is incredibly mean,” Marlee breaks in, voice tight. She feels as if she is breaking apart inside, shards of grief piercing her chest. 

The two men look at her, gazes unreadable. She shakes her head and rubs the heels of her hands into her gaze, exhaustion seeping through her. “I’m sorry. I’ll – Ben and I will figure something out. I won’t ruin him.”

They leave her with a hug and a caress of knuckles to her cheek; leave her to an empty small apartment and a day of unrest ahead. She showers, finds a pile of Ben’s clothing in a corner of the tiny bathroom. Stretched out in bed under the quilt, she listens to the rain and cannot find sleep. Psychically, she searches for the mating bond, the spark of it on her side, and finds nothing. 

When she does find sleep, it’s curled up to his pillow, on the side of the bed she thinks of as his. 

She wakes to the sound of rain, hollow against the windowpanes. The skies have shifted, deepening in their greyness and heavier over the city. Ben is there, curved around her with his chest pressed to her back. Weeks ago, she had a key made for him; it seemed right, instinctual, logical. She remembers the glow to his eyes when she pressed the key into his palm, the wide grin on his expressive face. Perhaps that was when it started, she thinks as she turns in his arms, settles onto her back. 

His mouth curls into a smile, and she knows he isn’t asleep. 

“Hey,” she says, voice cracked. 

The gaze that meets hers is concerned, wolfish and sharp on her. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” she asks, brow furrowed. 

He strokes a large hand over her hair, skimming his fingers along the line of her jaw, her throat. Propped up next to her, he shifts a thigh between hers, naked skin to skin. The contact is a jolt to her battered senses. 

“I know you,” he says softly. 

Tears edge the corners of her eyes. In the darkening grey afternoon he is a pool of light and strength, an anchor. She pushes up off the bed and kisses him, wraps her arms around his bare chest and pulls him down over her. The urge to be enveloped by him rising in her strongly; she has always resisted it before. Tonight, she’s not sure she can, or that she wants to. 

The wolf seems to know some shift has taken place; he stretches out over her and takes her mouth with his, his hands searching under the hem of her shirt. She has no patience for lingerie, or nightgowns; just a shirt – his shirt, now – is all she wears to sleep. He likes it, has so said before; it’s simple and all her, he says under the cover of night, a boyish grin on his lips. 

Now, his searching hands slide over her belly to cup the slight rise of her breasts in his palms, his thumb playing with the peak of her nipple. She stretches her fingers across the nape of his neck, the warm plane of his shoulders. Under him she is liquid, a piecemeal collection of want and sadness. There is loss coming to her soon; she hopes she can bear it. 

He strips off her t-shirt and sits up over her, his eyes glowing eerily in the dimly-lit room. “Marlee – “

She reaches down to lay careful fingers against the hard length of him, gripping lightly. His whole body shudders with it and he settles over her, his mouth claiming hers once more. She tilts her hips towards his and rocks against him, the soft inside of her thigh a cool friction against his erection. Their wrists brush as he cups her between her thighs and soon it’s just the roll of her hips against his, the curl of his fingers inside her and the press of his thumb at her clit. They’ve gotten better with practice, she thinks hazily as she lets him mark and suck at her throat at will, his tongue a warm wet press over her skin. 

Later, dozing against his chest, she feels his hand cup the nape of her neck, a singular hold of possession. Her spine stiffens reflexively. She tries to smooth her hands over his chest as a distraction, but he feels it. Of course he does. 

“What happened?” he asks quietly, in a tone that brooks no argument. Sometimes she forgets how young he is, when he has never truly acted his age. 

Sighing, she sits up, pulls the quilt around her naked shoulders. The apartment is damp and cool today, fog rolling in from the bay. They’ve spent an afternoon like this before, stretched out together; talking, kissing, dozing, fog almost seeping in through the cracks. There is no time left for lounging. 

“Hawke and my dad came to see me,” she says. 

Immediately Ben’s eyes narrow, the pupils thinning. He sits up against the headboard, hands curled into fists on his naked thighs. She settles further into the quilt, gaze cast down at the mussed sheets. 

“That wasn’t their place,” he says at last, voice strained. 

Blinking, she glances up at him. “They told me,” is all she counters with. 

Jaw clenched, he fixes a hard amber gaze on her. “That _really_ wasn’t their place.”

“Were you going to?” she asks, veins of desperation seeping into her tone. “Ben, I told you – “

“And I told you, Marlee!” he all but shouts, his temper at last getting the best of him. He has been resolutely controlled for months now, and she’s finally pushed him past the limits of his patience. She knew this day would come; she wonders why she isn’t more afraid. “I told you I loved you, I told you that you are it for me. Why wouldn’t I let it happen?”

“I – “

“I’ve been yours since I was three years old,” he says, voice ragged and harsh in the hazy air. His tousled hair sticks to the corner of his mouth, the line of his neck. “I knew then and I know now.”

He moves towards her on his knees, cupping her face in his hands. In the cradle of his arms she feels empowered, protected; there is comfort and strength here. “I love you, I love you – “ he repeats, his fingers clasped into her wavy hair. “And you love me – “

“I _can’t_ –“ she ekes out, the words raw as if they were ripped right out of her throat. “I can’t, don’t you see? Ben, look at you! Debasing yourself – you’re an alpha!”

He stares at her, all wolf, all shock. But he does not let her go. 

Shaking her head, she buries her face in her hands. She is as lost as she was at six, in a den full of strangers and without the mother she’d known since birth. He will leave her too, for his own good; he has to. 

His hands slide through her hair as he brings her close to his chest. She rests her head on his shoulder and breathes noisily, a vise of fear gripping her. “I’m already holding you back. I do it to everyone,” she says, voice wrecked. “They waited for me to grow up before defecting, and Sienna had to stay with Ming, and it’s because I wasn’t strong enough – “

“Marlee, stop,” he whispers, all anguish. “You can’t really believe that.”

“It’s true,” she retorts. Her mental shields are collapsing, pings of her distress echoing along family bonds. Soon Toby will come knocking, soon Judd will call in concern; she clutches at his shoulders, trying to anchor herself. “It’s true. I’m the reason – and I can’t do that to another person. I can’t.”

She tips her head back, her gaze blurred. He is so boyishly handsome, his face drawn, his eyes wide. She has touched every inch of his skin, listened to him swear in the shower, thrown cookies from the farmer’s market in his face as he tried to wrestle her to the ground. This studio is the only place she has ever fit, and it didn’t feel fully like home until he had been here, until he knew where she was always. That level of dependence frightens her; she truly is a submissive, in Pack vernacular. 

Her fingertips trace the lingering mark of her mouth on his throat, a match to the one he left on hers. “I love you so much – and if I held you back, I’d never forgive myself. They’re already worried about what I could do,” she says quietly, wiping her eyes. The irony does not escape her; the weakest Lauren could now ruin the Pack at large. 

“Is that – Fucking hell, is that what you think?” he asks, frustration and anger lacing his words. “The first time you say it, and it’s practically an insult.”

“First time- oh,” she murmurs. The scar on her palm aches, a painful one-two in time with her heart. “Oh Ben –I do. I love you.”

She laughs in spite of herself, her hand splayed over the bare skin above his heart. “I think I’ve loved you since waking up after the Scott attack and finding you sitting on my bed, holding my hand.”

His hands flex and grip at her neck, the curve of her spine. The chaos of emotion all but radiates off of his skin, muddling her train of thought. She shouldn’t feel him so acutely, she thinks, but she does; every beat of his heart, every twinge of desperation and pain. 

“But that’s the thing,” she whispers, stroking her hand over the rapid beat of his heart. “An alpha can’t be lingering at his mate’s bedside, waiting for her to wake up.”

“I don’t – “ He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply near her temple. “I don’t understand why you think you’re _less_. Marlee, you’re everything.”

_For now_ , she thinks sadly. _For now_. 

Growling, he uses the gentle hand in her hair to angle her head up, to slant a kiss over her mouth that sears his name into her blood. She drags her fingers over his chest and stomach, closing her eyes and kissing him back with all she has to give. His tongue is insistent and warm at the seam of her lips. Slowly he edges her onto her back, sprawling across her, their legs intertwined. Head at the foot of the bed, she curls into the hard edges of his chest and tips her head back, letting him drag his lips over the racing pulse in her throat, the lines of her collarbones. 

“Just – listen to me,” he says, and for a moment it sounds nothing like an order. It sounds like a plea, from a man to a woman, not an alpha to a Pack member. “Listen to me – “

She arches into the curve of his mouth as he follows a path to her belly, his hands spread wide on her hips. There is the scrape of teeth against her skin, marking her. He is relentless, she thinks hazily. 

“You’re it,” he breathes, his mouth hot and wet at her inner thigh. He cups her with his palm, his lips tantalizingly close to where she wants it. Her fingers tangle in the smooth length of his hair and tug, but he cranes his neck and bites at the soft flesh of her thigh. “I roamed for six months – I tried to forget you. But how could I?” 

Her scar throbs against the thin skin of her palm. She thinks she can feel the very breath of him in her veins. “Ben – “

“How could I? I broke my wrist to come see you in the infirmary wing, Marlee.”

She freezes, inhaling sharply. He had been fourteen, in the middle stages of defense training, and all her free time was spent in the hospital wing, preparing for an education she hadn’t told him was coming yet. She hadn’t known how to tell him she was leaving. And when Riaz dragged him into the infirmary, Ben had looked at her with such joy, such spirit – it had struck her to the bone. 

“Jesus, Marlee, I think I’ve been able to feel you in me since that damn blood bond,” he mumbles, stroking her wet flesh with his fingertips as he noses the curve of her hip. “I’d wake up some nights just sick to my stomach, no reason why. But I’d have your name on my lips.”

He curves a finger into her, his teeth sinking into the juncture of her hip and thigh. She shudders and opens her eyes, staring up at the grey-seeped light of the afternoon. “I was in Rome, with Marco, and I remember sitting at a bar, and my chest aching so hard for you, total misery – it was two springs ago.”

“Brenna’s miscarriage,” she whispers, as he shifts her thigh over his shoulder. She drags her heel over his back in a gentle caress. “I just – “

“When Lara told me you were coming home for Toby and Lina’s mating ceremony, told me _why_ you’d been gone – I was so angry with you,” he breathes. 

“I wanted to give you a choice,” she protests, skin flushed and damp with want. She raises her head to look at him. 

Amber wolf eyes meet hers, over the slight rise of her belly. He hovers between her thighs, lips parted, his teeth sharp and white against his tan skin. “I never had a choice,” he says with a smile that rips her apart. “I never wanted one.”

She thinks to cry, to pull him to her and never let him go. But then his mouth sinks over her and it is just the wet heat of his tongue over her clit, two fingers stroking inside her. He likes to do this to her, as bashful as she had been the first time; but now, it means something more. He murmurs her name against her skin and she is lost to the sensations within her, spine arching off the mattress. Her hips rise to his touch and he gives it to her until she is coming with a low moan, one she feels in her bones. Skin flushed with blood, she curls into herself as he mouths along her waist, the curve of her breast. She feels wrung out and drained; her hands slide over his hair to the nape of his neck, holding him to her as she tilts her head for his kiss. 

His fingertips slide over her damp salty cheeks as he kisses her, the taste of her on his mouth. “I don’t feel like myself without you,” he murmurs against her mouth. 

She presses her fingers against the pulse in his throat, feels it jump under her touch. “I don’t think that’s how an alpha is supposed to feel,” she whispers, blinking back tears. 

Ben turns onto his back and she shifts with him, exhausted and teary. There’s a lump in her throat she can’t dislodge, her pulse fluttering like a bird’s wings under his lips. “Then maybe I’m not the alpha everyone needs. Because it’s not changing,” he says against her jaw. 

Veins like ice, she shuts her eyes and presses her cheek to his shoulder, the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t be responsible for that,” she says raggedly. 

“God, Marlee. Did you ever think that maybe you make me better?” he grumbles, his chest vibrating under her. He pulls the quilt over them and wraps his arms around her back. 

“That’s not how it works,” she retorts, wiping at her cheeks again. Strength begets strength. 

“Can we argue about this over dinner? I made reservations,” he mutters.

Marlee doesn’t reply, just presses her lips to his bare skin and holds on. It’s a luxury she may only have for a brief time.

*

Dinner ends up becoming a late breakfast, Thursday being a day off for the both of them. Ben keeps her in the apartment and kisses her until she can’t breathe, moves his hands and mouth over her until she is too tender to touch. In the morning, Marlee says nothing of the night before, of the revelations between them. She feels Ben’s restraint as if it is her own; a subtle knife to the gut with every one of his looks at her. 

The day is overcast but dry, just the grey skies left from yesterday’s rain. Instead of driving, they walk from the diner back to her apartment, hands clasped together at their sides. Cars hover past, pedestrians hurry by; they are languid and slow, as if dreading the conversation coming once they return. Marlee still feels the imprint of his mouth all over her skin, as if she will never be unmarked. 

“Now what?” she asks as they meander towards her street. The bay shimmers dully in the winter light, down the slope of the city. 

Ben glances at her. Under the black-gold scarf she knitted for him so long ago, she can see the lingering mark of her mouth on his throat. “We stop playing pretend.”

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, dropping his hand. “I meant what else did you want to do today,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Her thick peacoat is bulky and warm, a gift from Lara years ago. 

He rests his hands on her shoulders, skirting the loose waves of her hair. “That’s what I want to do.”

Sighing, she tips her head back to the filmy grey skies. “I don’t see how this ends well,” she says at last, an echo of an earlier conversation. 

He pulls her into his chest, tucking her head against his shoulder. “For a smart girl, you’re pretty blind,” he mutters. 

“I’m trying to help you – that’s what I’ve been doing this whole time!” she protests, looking up at him. 

His large warm hands cup her face, catching the loose waves of her auburn hair against her throat. “I’d give it up for you,” he says quietly, every line of his face set in serious lines. 

Eyes widening, she shakes her head. “No – _no_ – “ she says sharply, grasping his wrists. 

“It won’t mean anything if I don’t have you,” he says stubbornly. 

“I am _nothing_ \- you broke your arm for me! That’s what I do for you,” she bites out, uncaring of the public, of the city streets. All she feels is rage, rage at the circumstances, at his stubbornness, at her own weakness. She had been too weak to keep him at bay, and now look – 

“I never feel better after a day spent with you,” he counters. “You feel the same way.”

Bristling, she tries to shift his hands away from her. “That’s not the point –“

She stills abruptly, her hands curled hard against his wrists. There is a strange brushing of mental energy against hers, foreign and unsettling. Under her touch, Ben’s arms tense. She feels the hunter rise to the surface of his skin, the silence of his breathing. _Hunting-quiet_ , she thinks in a faraway corner of her mind. 

Her eyes flicker up to his. His gaze is fixed across the street and behind her. The hairs on her arms rise with warning. _Psy_ , she thinks, willing him to look at her. _It’s a Psy_. And if she can feel him, with her weak telepathy abilities, a strong Psy at that. A foe, not a friend. 

_Ben_ , she thinks, willing herself to grow powers exponentially. _Run_. 

His grip loosens on her jaw, his palms smoothing down the line of her throat to her shoulders. 

“Ah, Marlee,” he whispers. “I can’t ever leave you.”

Her eyes widen, mouth falling open in surprise. And then, there is a puncture in her mental shields so vicious she falls to her knees, to the damp and grimy sidewalk below her. _Tk-Psy_ , she thinks even as she shoves away from Ben and screws her eyes shut. There are mental warnings everywhere – the other Laurens are there on the outskirts of her anguish, and oh – 

The mental shields built so well over years and years to keep them from her inner self collapse and suddenly she is everything and everywhere at once, sharp and unworthy and weak and a drag on their spirits. For so long, so long she has smiled and cajoled and comforted, and now – now, they can feel every inch of her incompetence. The guilt of it is an acrid taste in her mouth, mixing with bile at the back of her throat. Her stomach heaves and she grips torn fingernails into the concrete, mouth open in a silent scream. 

“Marlee!“

Ben is away from her side in an instant, claws out. She falls flat to the sidewalk and takes a few heaving breaths, the pain ricocheting through her bones, rattling against her skull. There are hands on her arms, unfriendly and harsh, and she struggles to gather one good push of Tk, crying out with the sheer effort. She is weak, she is nothing – the words haunt her, the struggle of her family to support her, the weakening of a future alpha – she shoves out with a scream, and pushes herself into the street, struggling to her feet. 

There are five men in black surrounding her, Tp-Psys – she can feel their psychic energy against her skin like a brand. Three split off towards Ben, drawing guns from their coats, and she knows what bullets lie in those chambers, remembers the horror stories of Drew, the power Judd used to heal him. The power she holds none of, and if Ben dies - She can’t let it happen, not like this – 

Her brain rattles in her skull, wracked with the loosening grips of her shields. There is so little left in her, but she pushes her hands out before the last two Psy can reach her and _shoves_ with her mind, enough so that they are left battered on their feet. She wheels around on her heels and moves across the street to Ben, as their thumbs move to the trigger. Her mouth opens in a scream as she pushes out the last remaining tendrils of her energy to wrap around the bullets, direct them back towards the assailants. It is the first time she has ever drawn blood. 

They fall as she does. She thinks she can smell the blood in the air as the ShrapnelX splits within them, shredding their organs. There is nothing but skin to hold her together, depleted and spent. Her head hits the street pavement even as Ben roars out to her. She feels more than sees the claws splitting his skin, the blood dripping down his arms. 

She looks up at the grey skies, measuring the slowing beat of her heart against the rage in Ben’s pulse. So different, so precise in both ways. Sirens echo in her ears at a distance; Pack will follow shortly. 

Ben’s drawn and anguished face appears in front of her, his arms lifting her off the ground to rest against his chest. She smells blood – her own, she thinks faintly. Oh – from her nose, her ear – she used everything she had. Flameout, Judd calls it. For Judd, for Toby, for Sienna – this would have been nothing, a brief expense of power. For Marlee, it is death. 

“See?” she whispers, curling her limp fingers against his coat. “It’s too much – “

“Jesus fucking Christ – Marlee - I swear to god, if you – “

She lifts up her scarred palm, presses it to the hard beat of his heart through his winter coat. “You’re here,” she breathes, darkness pricking at her lines of sight. “You’ve always been.”

The last she remembers before sinking into darkness is the desperate grip of his arms around her, the hot shaking voice at her cheek, her ear. She shuts her eyes and sinks into it, into cold comfort. 

*

When Marlee opens her eyes, she is on the mental plane. 

“Oh,” she says, encased in the fragile remains of her mental shields. “I’m not – I’m not dead.”

“Not from a lack of trying,” Toby says, his voice ragged in her head. 

She blinks and looks down at her hands. It feels as if there is blood under the nails, even under her very fingertips. “You shouldn’t be here,” she says at last.

Even this remotely, she can feel Toby’s disapproval. “I’m just the gateway. You locked yourself up tight.”

“Gateway to whom?”

And then she feels it, the soothing presence of Sascha Hunter. The empath’s psychic arrival is like a spark of light and color to Marlee’s battered psyche, frightening and nerve-wracking. 

“This is a low blow,” Marlee murmurs, curling in on herself. 

“I’m here to help, Marlee,” Sascha says gently, voice echoing in the dark cavernous space that is Marlee’s psychic plane. She can’t even sense the Laurens any longer; she is a lost cause. 

“Let me go,” Marlee mutters, closing her eyes. 

“It isn’t up to me,” Sascha says, a hint of exasperation in her tone. 

“I’ve let go!” Marlee protests. 

Sascha sighs, the sound reverberating through Marlee’s delicate shields. “I’m here to mend frayed edges. You have to come to the choice to wake up,” she says, ignoring Marlee’s last words. “But I think if you had really let go, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

Marlee peers into the delicate webbing of her shields, touching the threads as lovely as golden shimmering glass. Amber stares back at her, fierce and unyielding. She then knows that these are not her shields at all. 

“Ben,” she whispers. 

Humming thoughtfully, Sascha begins to touch on the ragged edges of Marlee’s psychic remains. Warmth settles into Marlee, and she shuts her eyes against it. Sascha’s touch is gentle, easy; she feels at home even as she is buffeted and prodded. 

“How is this possible?” Marlee mumbles. 

“Blood bonds are curious things,” is all Sascha says. 

Remaining silent, Marlee tucks into herself and wonders if the blood ever comes off a killer’s hands. She leans against the amber of the shields, and feels something akin to the warmth of Ben’s fur under her fingers settle through her. 

Time passes, and she feels the pain ebb away under Sascha’s gentle touch. But she still makes no moves outside of the psychic plane. 

“Did you ever feel less than Lucas?” Marlee asks at last. The question is impertinent, and she knows Toby hears her every word. But she’s lost in darkness as black and as cold as the Net, and Sascha is the only one there to help. 

Sascha pauses, the hesitation clear in the arc of her energy against Marlee’s. “Constantly, at first. He is such a strong alpha, and though I was a cardinal, I didn’t feel like enough,” she says at last. “But he never treated me as less than. He always treated me as more. And over time, as I grew into my empathy, I trusted myself enough for the both of us.”

Marlee sighs. “I have nothing to grow into.”

“You don’t think Sienna had to grow into being the alpha’s mate? Or that I did?” Sascha asks softly. 

Saying nothing, Marlee settles against the comfort of the mental shield. “At least you had something to draw from.”

A sigh, and then Sascha’s soft mental touch against her. “You lived on your own outside of Pack for almost four years. You are a nurse, and you’ve lived outside the Net. You’ve sacrificed nearly everything for the next alpha of your Pack when you could have been selfish. Not all strength is based in power and ability.”

For just a moment, Marlee uncurls from herself. She hears Ben in that split second. His voice, wrecked and desperate, catches right at her heart. _Marlee_ – 

“I’m scared,” Marlee says quietly, her voice even. 

“So was I,” Sascha murmurs. Marlee doesn’t doubt the truth of it for one moment. 

*

The light touches her eyelids as she swims up from the deep blackness. Marlee remembers it from once before, years gone by. She didn’t like it then, and she rejects it now, welcomes the warm glow from outside. 

She opens her eyes, blinking furiously. The slow beep of a monitor greets her, as well as the warmth of another body against hers. Ben’s face is buried against the slope of her shoulder, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. His hand is twined into hers, palm to palm. 

“Oh my god – “

Marlee peers up into Lara’s pale and drawn face. The room takes shape around her; she is in the infirmary of the den, her old familiar grounds. She shifts and feels Ben adjust against her, his nose there in the curve of her neck. 

“How – how did I get here?” Marlee croaks out, voice raw. 

Lara’s hands cup her face, tears glistening at the edges of her fox-brown eyes. “Oh, honey – Judd brought you.”

Marlee sinks into the bed, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, thinking of the energy he must have utilized. “Is he – “

“Marlee, are you all right?” Lara injects, voice strangled with tears. 

She blinks, abruptly exhausted. “Yes – I –“ She pauses, nausea rising in her belly. She can’t feel anyone on the SnowDancer Web. Not her father, not Toby – she can only feel Ben, the flush of his blood against her veins. 

“What _happened_?” she breathes. 

Lara just shakes her head, smoothing Marlee’s hair away from her face. “Oh honey, we were so worried-“

The door to her room opens and Walker’s tall frame fills the doorway. He is pale and wan, eyes faded in the simulated evening light. “Dad – “ Marlee starts but he is by her side in a moment, crowding next to Lara as his hands cover her free one as it rests on top of the covers. 

No one speaks, but when Marlee looks into her father’s eyes, he doesn’t have to. There is such strange worry and relief colliding there that it leaves her weary, unable to ask. She lets Walker and Lara soothe her, assure themselves of her wakefulness; then, she shuts her eyes and shifts against Ben. 

“Just get rest, Marlee,” Walker murmurs, passing a hand over her hair. “We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.”

“He should eat,” Marlee mumbles, nudging at Ben. The man snuffles her neck and settles closer, his arm around her waist. “Make him eat.”

She falls asleep to their incredulous faces, her fingers laced into Ben’s. 

When she opens her eyes next, she is alone in bed. The imprint of Ben’s body is still warm next to her. Judd sits at her bedside, eyes as sharp as the night sky. She feels the light warm and shift, as if the sun is rising. 

“His parents made him go. He hadn’t eaten,” Judd says in answer to her unspoken query. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes and sitting up against the headboard. Every part of her feels bruised and soft, as if a split peach. And her mind – 

“Are you okay?” she asks immediately, searching his face for signs of flameout, of exhaustion. 

Judd nods, covering her hands with his on top of the bedspread. The touch startles her, all warmth and affection. “The energy to bring you back to the den was immense, but not enough to suffer a flameout. I recovered within a few hours.”

“How long have I been out?” she asks.

“Four days.”

“Jesus,” she mutters, ducking her head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry- “

“It appears that during one of the attacks this fall, a Pure Psy member was treated at your hospital. He put two and two together, and as revenge against the Laurens and Pack, decided to take you out. You were outside the den, independent. They thought – “

“I was an easy target,” she says flatly. She’s always known that. 

“I suppose,” he says carefully. “Though I don’t think they took Ben into account. It was a shoddily planned operation.”

“I don’t know what I did,” she says, staring at their hands. “I don’t know what happened.”

Hesitating, Judd glances towards the door. “Walker and Lara should be back – “

“Judd, please,” she says, voice quiet.

His hands clench over hers. “You tapped out of your Psy abilities and nearly died, Marlee,” he says at last. “The blood bond you and Ben made years ago apparently is the only thing that saved your life.”

Taking a deep breath, she flicks her gaze up to his. “What does that mean, tapped out?”

Her uncle’s gaze is steady, flat. Only the tightening grip of his fingers over hers belays the emotion behind his eyes. “You no longer register on the Psy Gradient for any ability above a one.” 

She blinks, her mouth turning downwards. “I’m even less than I was before,” she says sadly. It feels negligible, really; apart from spurts of Tk, she had very little in terms of raw power in the first place. But it’s a difference, a change; she feels the same, but smaller. 

Judd smiles slightly. “You saved Ben.”

“By killing others,” she says flatly. 

“War is unclean,” he replies quietly. “And it touches everyone.”

“I’m not built for it,” she says raggedly.

The silence settles between them, dark and angry. She wants Ben, wants the comfort of skin and his mouth. 

“You’ll have to come back to the den,” Judd says at last. “We’re going to pack your apartment later this week.”

The experiment of freedom is over. She will come back into the den fold, take her place in the infirmary. She and Ben will finally have to separate. It was inevitable, but she thought they might have more time. 

“Okay,” she says at last, voice small. She knows when the battle is lost. 

In the middle of the night, alone, Marlee stares at the ceiling. She thinks of the men dead because of her, thinks of the blood she still imagines on her hands. The door to her room creaks open, but she does not startle. 

A warm slim hand rests on hers. Sienna sits on the edge of the bed, dark hair pulled into a braid down the line of her back. Marlee meets her gaze and struggles to keep her lip from trembling. 

“Does it hurt less?” she asks. “Does it get better?”

Mutely, Sienna shakes her head. Her hands stroke Marlee’s hair as Marlee crumples, presses her face into the pillow and cries silently. Hours pass as they remain just so. Sienna doesn’t leave her until morning, and the visit means more to Marlee than nearly anything else. 

*

After three days, a full week since the attack, she leaves the infirmary. Both Kristina and Nicholas have taken over the rooms once known as hers and Toby’s, but it doesn’t matter. When she leaves the infirmary, Walker doesn’t take her to his and Lara’s quarters; instead, they walk down the cool corridors to the regular den quarters. 

“What’s going on?” she asks after a moment. She knows that her apartment has been packed up and brought back up to the den, care of Judd, Walker, and some of the novice soldiers. But she had fully expected to sleep in the spare bedroom meant for Pack in the Lauren quarters, until a situation could be permanently found. Lara has already decided to take Marlee on as an assistant nurse. 

Walker stops in front of a door and turns to Marlee, his face set in flat lines. But his eyes are green with warmth and affection. “This can be your place, if you want it to be so,” he says rather cryptically. He leans in and hugs her close, kissing the top of her head. She holds onto him for a brief moment before he lets her go, touching her cheek as he does. 

“Come by for dinner tomorrow,” he says quietly, before turning down the hall and walking back towards his quarters. 

Blinking, Marlee glances at the door and pushes, finding it open. She steps inside with a small little gasp, her fingertips trembling. 

In the small living room, her loveseat sits fresh and clean, covered in a patchwork of throwpillows and a wide blue blanket that reminds her of Hawke’s eyes. It is joined by a sofa to match, and a coffee table. She turns her head and there is the full kitchen, sparkling and ready to use. She tiptoes through the rooms and peeks behind the screen divider. The space allotted for the bedroom is large, and there is her bed, her full-size bed that took up nearly half the studio apartment. The red-pink patchwork quilt is spread across it, and in the closet her clothes take up exactly half the space. Photographs line the walls, her favorites of Ben’s father’s work; landscapes of the Sierra, of the home she’s always loved. When she creeps back into the living room she finds more of the same, photographs of her family and the SnowDancer territories on the walls. 

It’s too big, and too much for just her. Heartbeat fluttering in her chest, she turns as the door creaks, watches breathlessly as Ben steps inside. His eyes are heavy with wolf, gleaming in the simulated light. 

“Did you – “

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. “You deserve a home,” he says quietly. 

“This is too much for just me,” she protests. “I’m not high enough in the hierarchy for this. And – Ben – “

“I thought – “ he blows out a sharp breath. “I thought it could be ours.”

Staring at him, she presses her hand to her chest. Apart from his usual rotations, Ben had barely left her side. They spoke nothing of the mating bond, of the loss of her Tk ability, of her hovering on the edge of death but for the blood bond. But the words are there, waiting on the tips of their tongues. 

“Are you sure?” she asks this last time. She’s tired of fighting him, tired of pretending that this isn’t exactly what she wants. Here she wants to be selfish, even if it costs him his destiny.

He crosses the room and kisses her, takes her in his arms and holds her too close to breathe. She shuts her eyes and digs her hands into his shoulders, opens her mouth to his and lets him take and take until she’s breathless. 

“I’ve always been sure,” he says against her lips once he pulls back, their breathing heavy in the air. 

“Even though – “

“You could be an antelope and I’d still be sure.”

Her mouth twitches as she looks up at him. “An antelope?” she repeats, brushing the dark hair from his brow. 

Shrugging, he hauls her up against his chest and bites at her lip playfully. “You know what I mean.”

She sighs and cups his face in her hands, nose to nose. Her feet dangle off the floor. “I don’t know if I can give you the bond,” she says seriously. The depletion of her mental abilities hasn’t yet sunk in fully; not even Sascha or Judd or Walker have straight answers for her moving forward. 

Ben rubs his jaw against her palm, against the scar he made. “I know how you feel. I’m not worried.”

“Stubborn wolf,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I just – “

Kissing her lightly, he edges her back against the closed door. Her thighs part and slide over the sides of his hips, arching into him as her back hits the wood. “I want you. I love you. How many more times do I have to say it? How many more ways?” he asks against her lips. 

“None,” she says softly, cradling his hips in the soft of her thighs. Because she is weary of the fight, just as he is. 

Smiling, he fits his palm to her throat, his fingers curving possessively at the nape of her neck. She tilts her throat into the grip, tipping her head back. “You’re tired,” he says quietly. 

“I am,” she says, leaning into bite at his jaw, the full line of his mouth. “But I’m not that tired.”

A growl rumbles out of his chest, reverberating against her lips. He carries her into the bedroom and stretches her out across the quilt, touching her with hands and tongue and words until she cries out, muffles the husky sounds into her pillows. Still, still they do not go all the way; she wants to be fully aware for it, active and enjoying. Here, she wraps the loose cuff of her fingers around his hard length and kisses him until he comes, curled up to her side with his face pressed into her throat. 

Later, after a shower and a simple dinner of toast and soup, they fit against each other in the bed she considers theirs, lowering the lights in the room. She drags her fingers across his bare chest, breathing slowly. In and out. In and out. The curling hairs on his chest catch at her smooth skin. 

“I killed a man,” she says softly after the longest time, not looking at him. 

He runs his knuckles over the groove of her spine. “So did I.”

“It felt awful,” she says. “I can’t stop – I don’t know.”

“You can’t think about anything else,” Ben says, shades of hollowness in his voice. “You dream about it, wonder if it really had to be that way.”

She tips her head up to look at him. His eyes are dark and distant, staring behind her into the darkening room. 

“It had to be that way,” she says after a quiet moment. “You would have died.”

His palm flattens against the small of her back as his gaze flickers back to her. “Was it worth your abilities?”

She presses her fingers to the nape of his neck, sliding a leg between his. “I’m still a nurse,” she says softly. “I was never defined by my abilities, always by the lack of them. This changes very little.”

He makes a low sound in his throat that rumbles right through her. “You’ve never given yourself enough credit. And you’ve always had power over me,” he murmurs, shifting them so he stretches out on top of her, his mouth nuzzling her jaw. 

“Smooth talker,” she murmurs, such joy in her heart that she thinks it might pour out of her. 

Ben smiles against her skin, his body a warm stretch of muscle and skin over her. “Just for you, Marlee,” he says, and he makes her forget everything except the sensation of skin on skin. 

*

“We have to go to dinner with my dad tonight,” Marlee says in the morning, sleepy-eyed on the loveseat with a warm cup of coffee in her hands. 

The face Ben makes matches how she feels inside; a little cramped, twisted, nervous. “This shit’s official then.”

She throws a piece of toast at him from across the kitchen. “You practically moved me into shared quarters, and now you’re getting antsy?” 

He grins, dressed only in jeans. The toast hits his bare chest and he catches it, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I think my parents are coming too. They mentioned something about it yesterday.”

“Oh _god_ ,” she mutters, ducking her head against the arm of the loveseat. “I’m battered and traumatized. Will they take it easy on me?”

He crosses to her in his bare feet and leans down to kiss her lightly, a hand cupping her cheek. “You’re neither. You’re perfect,” he says with a grin. 

The flush warms her cheeks but she smiles her brightest at him, unable to control it any longer. “You’re a dope.”

“Just for you,” he says cheerfully, moving back into the bedroom. 

Marlee goes to the Lauren quarters early, uneasy at the prospect of the evening. She knows the affection her family has for Ben, has always had; but the sands have shifted under them all, and she is still slow to navigate the new terrain given to her. She doesn’t feel _very_ different; but to not have the constant buffering of the Laurens in her mind is strange to get used to. 

“We’re still connected to you,” Judd tells her as they sit in the living room. Walker and Kristina are in the middle of making dinner, as Nicholas plays on the living room floor with Tiernan. Lara is still in the infirmary, nearly on her way; Sienna sits next to Marlee on the sofa, her slim pale hand tight around Marlee’s. It’s going to be a full table, with Hawke, Brenna, Ben, and his parents still on the way. Toby and his mate have already returned to the other side of the territories on their rotation through Cooper’s area. 

“You still have Psy markers, just too low on the spectrum to be of note on the gradient,” Judd adds. 

“The Pack is still connected to you too, just on the lowest of psychic levels,” Sienna says. “But that is apparently mostly due to the blood bond with Ben.”

“Which was very irresponsible at the time,” Judd murmurs. 

Marlee levels her stare at him. “In the long run, what does this mean?” she asks. 

Shrugging, Judd reaches out and lets Tiernan latch onto his arm. He lifts and lowers the young boy as he giggles with delight. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s not as if you suffered an extreme loss of power. The concern was more on the personal psychic level, and whether your weakened connection to us would sustain you.”

“But you have Ben, so we don’t need to worry about that,” Sienna says quietly. 

“We – we haven’t had the mating bond yet,” Marlee says, flushing slightly. 

“The blood bond seems to have done enough,” Judd says, taking Tiernan into his lap and bouncing him on his knee. 

“It’s enough to have here safe and here,” Walker says as he passes into the room, Kristina on his heels. “That’s all that matters.”

He drops a kiss on the top of Marlee’s head as he walks by, and Marlee can’t help but smile, the full wide smile she knows they want best from her. But she feels it too, in every inch of her bones. For the first time in a long time, she wants to smile for them all. 

Sienna stays seated next to her as the others move inbetween the kitchen and dining area. The main doors open and shut as Lara and Ava arrive together, and Brenna. The Lauren quarters are filled with love and joy and laughter; Marlee is reminded of when they first moved into these quarters, helping Lara set up the throw pillows and decorating the room Kristina now leaves her mark on. 

“Are you all right?” Sienna asks after a moment, squeezing Marlee’s hand between both of hers. 

Marlee tips her head towards her cousin; Sienna is somber and pale in the simulated evening light, the markers of deaths still mourned in her cardinal gaze. They will never fully understand the other, Marlee thinks; but they are closer than she used to believe. 

“I am,” Marlee says at last. “I really am.”

Leaning in, Sienna kisses her cheek. The light scent of autumn leaves fills Marlee’s nose. “I’m here, if you need me,” she says quietly. 

Squeezing Sienna’s hand in return, Marlee nods against her cheek. “I’m here, too.”

It is then that Hawke stalks in, holding Tiernan against his hip. His silver-blonde hair falls tousled over his brow. “This little troublemaker was running around the corridors,” he says pointedly, ice-blue gaze fixed on his mate. 

“Judd _just_ had him,” Sienna retorts, shaking her head as she rises from the sofa. When she crosses to Hawke, he leans down and kisses her, the rare gentle affection meant for family only. 

“Just like his mother,” Hawke mutters. 

“I beg to differ on that one,” Lara exclaims as she passes by the doorway to the living room. “Marlee, hon, come get a drink.”

Marlee rises and tails behind the rest of them as they gather in the dining room. She takes the water pressed into her hands by Lara and is immediately wrapped up in a hug from Ava, the maternal she learned so much from. 

“My boy’s on his way,” Ava murmurs, kissing Marlee’s cheek. “I was hoping – I hoped for this – “

Blushing, Marlee ducks her head. “I’m sorry if I hurt him,” she blurts out. 

Ava smooths the hair from Marlee’s face and sighs, eyes wide and expressive and warm. “I think you both had things to figure out. He’s a tough one; he can handle it. So can you,” she says, touching her cheek before whirling away to the kitchen. 

Soon a shiver slides up her back, awareness raising the hairs on the back of her arms. She glances back just as Ben slips in, his father behind him. Spencer Stone nods and smiles at her before walking over to join Hawke and Judd at the far corner of the room for a beer (Judd, of course, with his habitual iced tea). But Ben moves to her as if a magnet, his hand falling to the small of her back as he tucks up against her. 

“You okay?” he asks, leaning his cheek to her temple. 

She leans back as his hand slides over her waist, letting him hold her weight. “I am,” she says, watching her family coalesce and condense together. 

He kisses her cheek and rubs his thumb over the jut of her waist. “You think your dad is going to give me the Talk?” he teases, though she feels the true nerves behind his words. 

“God, I hope not.”

“Good,” he breathes out. “Because I just got it from _my_ dad, and I don’t want another one. I think I’ve got the mechanics down.”

“I think we’ll see once the opportunity arises,” Marlee retorts under her breath, face flushing. 

“Soon enough,” he promises, voice low. But then Ava calls his name and he pulls himself away from her, towards his mother as she stands with Spencer and Lara. Marlee keeps to the edges of the room, as the children of the various Laurens and their mates run around at her feet. 

Dinner is a boisterous, excited affair, but Marlee mostly observes. She smiles for her father, but her focus remains on the group, on the bonds clustered there. So much power in one room – she still feels a little out of sorts surrounded by them. But Ben takes her hand under the table, laces their fingers together, and keeps her grounded, anchored. The gentle ribbing from Hawke and Brenna and the thinning of Judd and Walker’s mouths does not go unnoticed; she will always be their little girl, she thinks. 

Later, in the quarters that are theirs and theirs alone, Marlee slips out of her jeans and shirt and waits for Ben, listens to the familiar sounds of him in the shower. His belongings arrived here this afternoon and she spent time placing them with hers, filling the gaps. He does that with her, she thinks; he fills the gaps. Sighing, she stretches out across the bed and waits, shuts her eyes and breathes in the smells of home and quiet. 

The shower shuts off and she hears him step out, the pad of feet against the cool wooden floor. Soon he is crawling into bed next to his, his hair damp and skin warmed through. She opens her eyes and smiles, touching his water-flecked shoulder. 

“Not asleep?” he asks.

“No,” she murmurs lifting her head to kiss him. She loops her arms around his neck and pulls the naked length of him against her, the thin cotton of her panties the only barrier between them. 

“Marlee – “ he breathes out against her lips, his hips already rocking against hers. He is hard against her inner thigh and she shifts her knees apart, letting him settle into the cradle of her hips. 

“Yes,” she says softly, carding her fingers though his hair. Her teeth sink into his lower lip, an affectionate bite. 

He blinks amber-wolf eyes at her, a slow smile curling his mouth. “I love you,” he says, mouthing at her neck, the lines of her collarbones. His hands settle at her thighs and move inward, a palm cupping her damp curls. She moves into the warm caress, dragging her nails down his back. A finger sinks into the hot slick wet of her, his thumb flickering at her clit. 

Shuddering, she hooks her thigh around his waist and arches into his touch. “Don’t tease too much,” she says through a moan. 

At that he lifts his head from her skin, and she sees the animal staring back at her, hungry. “Oh, Marlee. I just want to eat you up,” he murmurs, all wolf in his voice. 

He does, quite thoroughly. Once she’s shaking and wet to the barest of touches, her voice wracked with moans, he settles his hand at her thigh and enters her with an easy thrust. His mouth bites at the curve of her breast and shoulder, restraint tensing every inch of his limbs. Marlee curls tightly around him, digs her nails into his back and gasps his name. Her hands tunnel into his hair and _tugs_. Hissing, he arches into her and presses her into the bed, every breath that escapes a moan. She feels as if she could shatter under his very breath, and nearly does. When he comes, he buries his face against her throat, the shout of her name muffled against her skin. 

“You’ll have to shower again,” she murmurs much later, their sweat-slick skin sticking to one another. She shifts onto his chest, laying half on him, half on the bed. 

Ben, looking supremely content, slides her fingers through her hair and smiles. “Later,” he says, a sharp glint to his eyes. “I’m still hungry.”

He pulls her fully on top of him and kisses her until she sees stars. The shower can wait, she thinks dazedly. 

*

A year later, in the middle of a shift in the infirmary, it happens. 

Marlee is busy sorting gauze and bandages when she feels it right in her gut, a sharp aching pain that nearly doubles her over. 

She is alone in the infirmary, as it is a quiet afternoon; Lara is out at lunch with Walker, while Lucy has the next few weeks off to travel at last. For months it has just been the easy rhythms of Pack life, of life with Ben; there are rocky moments, but on the whole it is a stable life, an easy life. Ben is nearly twenty-one, growing into his own; they think he will be a senior soldier soon. The mating bond still hasn’t snapped into place; when she asks, Ben’s gaze grows stormy and he says nothing. She wonders then if he regrets this, the half-life of a man without a true mate. But in time it may happen; that’s what they keep telling her, even if she is beyond believing. 

Now, though, in the cool simulated light of early spring in the Sierras, Marlee drops the gauze she is folding and reaches for the nearest steady wall, a gasp ripping through her. 

“Ben –“ she breathes out, stumbling out of the storage room and into the main wing of the infirmary. “ _Ben_ –“

They bring him in just moments later, bloodied and bruised and all but unconscious. Kiernan and Tai have him draped between them, covered in sweat and blood and dirt. 

“What happened?” Marlee exclaims, pushing back her own nausea, her emotions settling. They lay him out on a bed and she strips him of his torn clothes, adrenaline surging through her. _Ben_ , she thinks, willing some sort of Tp ability to return to her, _don’t leave me. Not now_. Her bare skin grazes his, an electric surge of a touch. 

“Humans,” Tai all but snarls, the wolf heavy in his gaze. She snaps on plastic gloves, listening intently. “Anti-changeling group sprung a trap on us – like we’re _animals_ – “

“Jesus,” she whispers, even as she hears footsteps down the hall. “Okay.”

She lays gloved hands on his torn abdomen, cleaning the blood and dirt, as Lara bursts in, Walker on her heels. “Marlee, are you – “

“I’m fine,” Marlee says, voice cool and even as ice. “I’m disinfecting the wounds. It looks like punctures and tears down through the muscle in the abdomen, and a broken arm.”

Lara touches Marlee’s hair gently before she slips over to Ben’s other side, and stretches her hands over his skin. It takes three hours of work, of Lara’s unrelenting dedication, and still once all the wounds are healed over and wrapped with gauze, Ben is still too pale, unmoving and unresponsive. 

“He lost a lot of blood,” Lara says, white as a sheet. Her dark gaze stands out starkly against her skin. 

“Go rest,” Marlee says, washing her hands and tossing the used materials away. “I can handle it.”

It takes Walker and Hawke to get Lara to leave; no one tries to make Marlee move. 

Alone in the room with him, Marlee sits at the edge of the bed and takes his hand in hers. It is her scarred palm against his, years of his blood in hers; she wonders if her blood has weakened him in return, where he has only made her stronger. The light shifts as night approaches and she remains at his bedside, holding his hand in hers. 

“If you leave me now, after all of this, I’ll just – I’ll kill you myself, Ben Stone,” she says at last, voice cracking. Mindful of his bandages, she shifts into bed next to him, makes herself as small as she can. Her cheek settles against his clean smooth shoulder, his skin unnaturally cool. “You kept me here once. Let me do the same.”

On instinct, she raises her head and kisses him, his lips dry and cracked against hers. She shuts her eyes against the strangest sensation, as if a puzzle has slotted into place within her. She can feel the heaviness of him, the pain, the love he carries for her; it is a spark of amber light behind her eyes, simple and easy and soothing. To her, it feels as if she has been holding this piece for her whole life, waiting to slot it against his. 

His skin warms under her touch, his breathing picking up with a sigh. She curls into him and sighs, sighs his name and presses her lips to the steady pulse in his throat. “Stubborn wolf,” she murmurs, all joy. 

In the middle of the night, she wakes to find him half-on top of her, his face pressed into her throat. “This isn’t our bed,” she mutters, pushing at him. “You have to behave, Ben.”

He raises his head, amber-wolf eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. “It happened,” he says, voice full of wonder. 

Wetting her lips, she touches his jaw lightly. “Is that okay?” she asks softly. 

Instead of answering, he kisses her. She can feel the reverberation of his affection and love in her very bones, unyielding and unending. They have been each other’s for as long as either of them can remember, and the knowledge settles into her bones with pleasure. 

“Took you long enough,” he mutters against her mouth. 

“Well, you should have courted me better,” she teases, mindful of the gauze at his injured shoulder and stomach. “Jesus, Ben, try not to die on me again.”

“Now we’re even,” he says, kissing her again. 

Three days later, Judd slips a few clippings under her office door. _Dress suggestions_ , the handwritten note says. Marlee looks at them, looks at a mildly confused Ben as he eats his breakfast with her in the office, and just laughs. 

*


End file.
